Touched By Gravity
by SignsOfSun
Summary: Nick’s investigation of a case is abruptly interrupted. It may take a little teamwork to solve the case with him out of commission or is he really? Just might he still be able to provide an essential connection to the truth?
1. Chapter 1

Author: ShadesOfNick

Title: Touched By Gravity

Genre: Angst (Series)

Characters: Nick and Sara. Whole team although light on Greg.

Spoilers: None for future episodes, but a few references to past seasons.

Note: My fanfic chapters are normally longer than this, but I wanted to get a feel for what readers in this particular community wanted in terms of length. So I'm starting off on the short side-at least for me. My normal fanfic chapters run about 3000 or 4000 words and this one is only 1100. So just the very opening here.

Summary: Nick's investigation of a case is abruptly interrupted. It may take a little teamwork to solve the case with him out of commission-or is he really? Just might he still be able to provide an essential connection to the truth?

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

_Touched By Gravity I_

"Down here?" Nick asked gesturing to the door that stood half open out into the kitchen of the house he had arrived at only seconds before.

"Yep. No lights down there. We're working on getting something besides flashlights to light it up," the uniformed officer called over to him from the hallway.

"No lights. That's just…great," Nick commented in a disappointed mumble.

"What'd ya say?" the officer inquired back loudly.

"Nothing. Just…thinking out loud."

"Oh." Nick heard from a few feet off behind his back. He didn't offer anything additional. Instead he walked to where the door was partially open and then stood in the frame of the doorway, just on the threshold between the kitchen and landing that led downstairs. The early morning sunlight that flooded the upper level of the house faintly crept across only the two top steps. The rest was a visual void. As he retrieved his flashlight from his pocket Nick silently wondered why it always had to be somewhere dark and underground. Why couldn't these criminals ever leave a body upstairs in a well lit area? Nope it always had to be a basement or a well or a bunker fifty feet underground. Only the bold ones weren't desperate to hide the wrong they had done. At that instant Nick formed a new found albeit strange appreciation for being assigned one of those rare cases.

The tiny tremor that seized his hand as he turned on the light took him by surprise. It had been a long time since the last time. The thread of hope that he was beginning to move on from that day, that day in hell, frayed a little as he shone the beam of the flashlight on the dirty wood staircase below his feet. As he slowly descended into the shadows he glanced back over his shoulder once, checking to make sure the door in fact was still open. Confirming that it was he turned his head facing forward again and his eyes focused back on the surroundings that the glow from his flashlight had illuminated. He stepped down one more stair and the light found her. Nick stopped and scanned the scene, lighting each piece of the puzzle a fraction at a time. The DB was a female teenager, maybe sixteen, dressed in grey sweatpants and a pale blue and very oversized t-shirt. She was lying on her right side, facing the staircase. The nearest object to her still form was a white plastic laundry basket, which was also rested on its side. Its apparent former contents were sprinkled around the section of floor to the right of her body. Directing the beam of the flashlight deeper into the basement Nick noted the washer and dryer in the far northeast corner.

Certainly at first glance most people would think this poor girl had been headed down the stairs to go do laundry and had taken a lethal fall. Funny how gravity kept people alive, grounded them, but also could so easily contribute to their demise.

And it could have very well been what happened, but he wouldn't know until the evidence recited the tale to him. After skimming the rest of the basement he moved again, descending the final three stairs. Setting down the kit he had grasped in his right hand he squatted to visually examine the body, this girl not even out of high school who had been robbed of any tomorrow. He stared at her for a motionless moment, trying to recall a detail from a few minutes earlier. Had there been a parent, a relative, a friend, anyone outside with the officers there? A second nature to study faces had been engrained into him by this job long ago. Upon arriving at a scene he always did his best to mentally log the images of the people's faces on scene. He came up empty handed this time. There had been no one out there for this young girl. That would be on the top of the list of questions. It struck Nick as odd. In particular, who had found and reported the body?

The sharp ring of his cell broke his intent visual lock on the girl's face. Retrieving it and putting it to his ear he continued to pan the flashlight beam across the length of the basement.

"Stokes."

"Nick. Solved the case yet?" Sara's voice asked teasingly.

"Not yet but I'm working on it. Don't you worry."

"Come on now Nick. You've been out there what ten or fifteen minutes now, right? What's taking you so long?" she replied, a enormous grin in her tone.

"Well why don't you come on out here and we'll see who can figure it out first?"

"I'd be more than happy to come on out there and show you how it's done, but I have forty beer bottles to dust for prints."

"Whoa forty! Somebody's got one hell of a hangover."

"Not anymore. At least not the party's host, Mr. Cabran. He's sleepin' it off permanently."

"I guess that's one way to avoid a hangover. Wouldn't be my first choice but to each their own."

"It wasn't his choice either. Somebody chose for him. Soon as I'm done with this stuff for Grissom I'll be out, okay?"

"Well you know if it's gonna take you more than a couple minutes don't bother. I'll have everything wrapped up here and it'll be too late for you to come 'show me how it's done', that was how you put it right?" he responded, letting the smile on his face seep into his voice.

"Aw! Isn't that sweet you were listening. Nice try. Better hurry up and solve the case before I get out there because your charm won't keep you from eating my dust."

"In your dreams."

"Uh Nick. I think you have that backwards."

"No ma'am I don't believe I do."

"Tick tock Nick. Tick tock. Time is awastin'."

Nick let out a faint chuckle into the phone before responding.

"I'll be here."

"And so will I in a few," Sara replied and hung up, cutting off the end of her slight laugh at him. Nick flipped the phone closed and returned it to his pocket. The smile lingered on his face. Somewhere along the line going to work had become like going home to your family. And Nick's family at work never failed to take the opportunity to tease him or challenge him. They also never let him forget there was a reason for that. Simply that he was family.

_To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Author: ShadesOfNick

Title: Touched By Gravity

Genre: General/Angst (Series)

Characters: Nick and Sara. Whole team although light on Greg.

Note: For those readers that might know me from my former fandom-bear with me while I test out to see if I like this new style for writing fanfic. Normally my chapters are very descriptive and, therefore, very long and I'm trying out to see if trimming it down works for me.

Spoilers: None for future episodes, but a few references to past seasons.

Summary: Nick's investigation of a case is abruptly interrupted. It may take a little teamwork to solve the case with him out of commission-or is he really? Just might he still be able to provide an essential connection to the truth?

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

_Touched By Gravity II_

Nick paused in the hallway outside the autopsy room and inhaled deeply until his lungs were filled to the brim. He let his eyelids slide closed and expelled the breath from his body very slowly. There were just some cases that required the simple calming mini ritual before turning over the next card in the deck. The coroner's findings were sometimes the ace you were looking for and other times a real tough card to have in your hand.

Another heartbeat later Nick entered into the subdued lighting of the exam room.

"Hi Nick," Doc Robbins softly greeted him.

"Hey," he responded, stopping on the opposite of the table from the coroner. Robbins glanced up just for an instant and connected visually with him before Nick's voice filled the still air in again.

"Amlyn Marshall, age 17. What can you tell me?"

"Well, Ms. Marshall, is a very interesting young lady."

"Don't you mean _was_ not _is_?"

"I guess that depends on your perspective. From my point of view she _is_ interesting-her physical form is-the things her body tells me. From your perspective I suspect _was_ is the appropriate choice of wording."

"Oh yeah, how's that?"

"I'm guessing that in order to figure out who killed her and why you would be required to find out who she was when her heart was still beating and her mind was still alive. And why someone stopped them from being that way."

"Good point. Hadn't thought of it that way."

"That's why my job title is coroner and yours is CSI. We share common ground in that our work revolves around a DB, but we go our separate ways on the angles we approach it from."

"Well I'm meeting you on common ground so fill me on why Amlyn here is so interesting."

"I've only had time to do a preliminary. First bet on cause of death would be trauma to the chest," Robbins responded. He folded down the sheet to just above the girl's breasts, revealing a large and severely bruised area around and just below her collarbone.

"Ouch," Nick commented.

"Yeah tell me about it. Broke her collarbone and the top of her ribcage by the looks of it. What that did internally will tell the tale. You said she was at the bottom of a flight of stairs. I'll have to look a bit closer, but we'll still keep the fall as a possible cause for that for right now. Have to have been a real bad one though. See," the other man offered. Using the fingertips of his right hand he demonstrated to Nick how easily her chest sunk inward when the slightest of pressures was applied. After a agreeable nod of the head from Nick, Robbins continued.

"Moving on. As you noted there was blood in her ear and on her earlobe. Whatever caused it is internal. No cuts or anything on her face or ears that would have been the source."

"Blood coming from the ear could be consistent with a head injury, right?"

"It's a possibility. Like I said I only had time for a prelim."

"Or…it's not her blood maybe?"

"Always a possibility. I'll get a sample for you."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Dislocated shoulder, cuts on her tongue and the inside of her right cheek, and that was as far as I got when you arrived. I did, however, do a sexual assault exam as you requested."

"By the look in your eye you found something, didn't you?"

"Like I said earlier this is a very interesting young lady. No sexual assault, but there was something. I'd say one of the most interesting things her body has to say is that she recently gave birth."

"Gave birth?"

"Yep. I'd estimate less than a month ago."

"You're right that sure is interesting. Especially since there was not one hint of a baby in the house she lived in. Or from anyone we've talked to. So if she gave birth, where's the baby?"

Robbins looked up over at him with a slight smirk adorning his face.

"Coroner," he stated, placing the palm of his hand over his own chest for a second. He then lifted it and gestured with a pointed finger to Nick across the table from him.

"CSI," he said. Nick chuckled at the other man. Robbins deserved credit. He had a way of making the simple truth almost new somehow.

"You're one up on me Doc. We're definitely going to have to find out who this young lady was while she was still amongst the living."

"We? Remember Nick. Me, coroner. You, CSI."

"I was actually referring to me and Sara."

"Oh! I thought you were solo on this one."

"By all appearances it would seem that way, wouldn't it? Grissom's got her tied up on that arson case."

"I see."

"Anything else for me here before I get back out there?"

"No. I think that's just about it for now."

"Alright. Thanks Doc. Keep me updated."

"Sure thing."

Nick made his way back out into the brighter sobering light of the hallway.

"Queen of hearts," he commented in a whisper to himself. He had a gut feeling about this case and how it's knots could be unraveled. A faint smile materialized across his face as he headed down the hall, dialing Brass' number on his cell.

"Brass!" he heard after barely having placed the phone to his ear.

"Hey Brass. It's Nick."

"Got anything for me?"

"Oh yeah. Lots of questions Jim. Not many answers-yet that is."

"Throw me a bone here Stokes."

"Maybe I need to get my vision checked. Did you see a baby at Amlyn Marshall's house."

"Uh no. No baby. Unless you count the baby snake I saw underneath the porch. Why?"

"Amlyn Marshall had a baby. Less than a month ago."

"That does raise a few questions, doesn't it?"

"Can you see what you can find out about it for me?"

"Birth certificate. Hospital records. Adoption agencies maybe. I'm on it. I'll be in touch as soon as I've got something."

"Perfect. Thanks!"

"I'm there for ya Nicky," was Brass' reply, saturated with a friendly sarcasm.

"Goodbye Brass," Nick stated with a slight annoyance to his tone. Jim returned the goodbye and Nick ended the call. As he was returning the phone to it's proper place a voice a few feet away gained his attention.

"Nick! Nick!"

"Hi Sara," he said and stopped to wait for her to catch up with him.

"Listen, I'm sorry that I didn't get out to the crime scene or for that matter haven't even caught up to you at all. I swear sometimes Grissom forgets there's other cases beside the one he is obsessing over at any given instant."

"I'm not going to put up a fight on that last point. But as for you neglecting me and my case…I forgive you."

Sara smiled softly and when she responded she did so in the best southern belle accent she could conjure up.

"My goodness such a heavy weight off my mind. Because you know I was feelin' faint over the mere thought you'd think I was abandoning you, darlin'."

Nick freely laughed out into the air surrounding them. After a few seconds he had contained his amusement long enough to speak.

"You know what if you promise to never use that accent again I'll even credit you for one future 'I forgive you'."

"That was bad, wasn't it?"

"Yes, darlin', it sure was."

"Well, I think I've almost tackled what Grissom needs for the moment. I might be able to escape in about an hour so you can bring me up to speed."

"Sounds like a plan. Just come find me when you're relieved from Grissom duty."

"You got it!" Sara responded and walked hurriedly down the hallway towards the A/V lab. Nick turned and headed in the opposite direction, but only made it a few feet before Sara's voice recaptured his attention.

"Oh and Nick!"

"Yeah." He pivoted around to see her stopped down at the corner of the hallway, looking back at him.

"Deal on that future 'I forgive you'."

"Thank goodness for that!"

"Hey! Watch it mister! Cuz now I have the knowledge and power to torture you. And I'm not afraid to use it."

"Afraid to use what?" Grissom inquired, stepping out of the break room into the hallway.

"You wouldn't be interested," Nick called out back down the hallway.

"Oh and why not?"

"It doesn't involve bugs."

"Oh. You're missing out then. Bugs are some of the most interesting things out there. Fascinating even."

"We know!" Sara and Nick responded in unison.

"Fine. Just ruin all my fun."

"You alright Nick?" Catherine inquired, stepping out of the break room with Warrick in tow. She had noticed him rubbing his eyes and running a hand over his hair.

"Today's just one of those days…you feel like you've been here forever."

"Although not technically forever, you have been here quite a long time. In fact, we're all past due to go home and get some sleep," Grissom answered.

"Amen! I'm going home to do just that," Catherine announced and gave a little wave before making a beeline towards the locker room.

"She's got the right idea. I'm out of here. Catch you guys later!" Warrick seconded.

"See ya later!" was the threefold answer they received from Grissom, Sara, and Nick.

"What about you two? Lunch?" Grissom asked.

"I, for one, still have work to do," Sara stated and was off again towards the A/V lab.

"I guess that just leaves you and me."

"Sorry, Gris. I just got a whole stack of information to go over for the Marshall case. It's a working lunch for me."

"I don't want to see you still here when I get back in for shift. Remember the mind works better well rested."

"Yes, sir," Nick responded and headed off to get his notes and files. He'd review them over a bite to eat in the break room and see if any of the puzzle pieces fit together now that more of the picture was illuminated.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Nick stuffed a few pairs gloves into the pocket of his vest, replenishing the supply there, then locked up the Tahoe. He'd sat in the break room for a long time, what somehow had turned into a couple hours. Taking inventory mentally had reminded him of a few details that had faded into the background in light of the newer and more colorful information. Both Brass and Robbins had touched base with him as well. Sara hadn't arrived, but Nick understood. She tended to lose track of time in the same way he did. Also it seemed everybody had been overloaded lately-too many cases and not enough hands to cover them all. So he had made another pass over everything again on his own, this time including the additions that Brass and Robbins had supplied. It was wasn't long before he had found himself back at the eerily empty Marshall house.

Nick chuckled faintly. At least he'd be absent when Grissom arrived back for shift. And unless he noticed the missing Tahoe he'd have no reason to believe that Nick hadn't simply gone home and gone to bed like he told Grissom he would do instead of blending the prior work day into the next. Hence, one argument avoided. He had confessed to himself only a few minutes earlier that he could really use a few hours of rest, but something had drawn him back out to the crime scene. That and Ecklie had driven him away with his numerous and intentional passes by the break room window. Ecklie, territorial to a fault, Nick reminded himself.

After retracing his own footsteps inside the house, starting in the basement and ending upstairs in Amlyn's bedroom, nothing new had surfaced. Frustration had started to fester inside him a little while he stood in the room where the girl had probably lived a large portion of her young life. With a weighted sigh he had moved to the window and peered out into the fading daylight. His gaze was caught by the small building that stood out back of the house. It was an artist's studio that Amlyn's mother had had built for herself so she could work at home and save renting expensive studio space. Greg had accompanied him on the initial call because Sara had still been tied up with Grissom's case. Nick had instructed Greg to check the studio while he worked the house, but the younger CSI had not reported back any relevant finds. Greg was learning, quickly, about working in the field, but he had a long way to go yet. With that thought inside his head Nick had exited the house and gone to the Tahoe to deposit his kit and notes and refresh the supplies in his vest. He'd go over the studio once more for good measure. Two sets of eyes were better than one.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

"Weren't we just here?" Catherine asked entering the locker room. Sara, halfway though a yawn, looked up at her from her seat on the bench.

"Sure feels that way," she replied.

"Hi folks. And how is everyone this evening?" Warrick inquired, overflowing with energy.

"And where did you get your energy from. Wait! Never mind. You went home to Tina, didn't you? I don't need details," Catherine said and lethargically put her jacket and purse inside her locker.

"That's okay I wasn't going to offer any. I was leaving those to your imagination," Warrick answered with a mischievous smirk.

"My imagination has declined your offer," Catherine responded with a grin.

"Yeah. Me too. I'm so tired my imagination is on strike," Sara added. She closed her eyes and let her head hang so her chin was to her chest.

"Geez! Did you get any sleep Sara?" Warrick asked while in fast forward storing his jacket, retrieving his id, and checking his gun. Sara didn't look up, just held up her hand with two fingers raised.

"Two hours, that's it. You're gonna be hurtin' tonight," Catherine said. Closing her locker she sat down beside Sara. Sara uttered out an agreeable but exhausted moan then let her body list to the left. Her head landed on the very edge of Catherine's shoulder.

"You make a good pillow," Sara commented groggily.

"Thanks…I think. But it's going to be hard to process crime scenes with you attached to my shoulder."

"Oh come on. Just for a little while Catherine. Please," Sara begged.

"Well, I suppose we could give it a shot. It'll be easier if we get assigned the same case by Grissom. Otherwise you're out of luck."

"Hey! Either of you seen Nick?" Warrick asked. Catherine looked up at him and nodded in the negative. Sara just released a sound that vaguely resembled a "ugh".

"What's up Sara?" Catherine asked. It took Sara a few seconds to gather up the energy to reply, but managed a few coherent sentences.

"I'm supposed to be helping Nick on his case, the teenager found at the bottom of the stairs. But Grissom had me climbing Everest for him on that hotel arson so I haven't lifted a finger to help out Nick."

"I'm sure Nicky understands. We've all been slammed lately," Warrick reassured her.

"Maybe one of us should give him a call. Make sure he didn't oversleep," Catherine suggested just as Grissom poked his head through the door to the locker room.

"Got assignments," he announced before disappearing back out into the hallway.

"Too late. Our presence is requested by the boss man," Warrick stated and headed out of the room. Catherine and Sara trudged after him by a few feet.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The beeping of the alarm on Nick's watch tore him from the spider web of thoughts that entangled his mind. He looked down at its display and spoke to nothing but the air surrounding him.

"Are you technically late if you never really left?" he asked, shutting off the nerve grating noise. Returning his gaze to the items laid out before him he could feel it, that tingle that meant he was on to something. The first floor of the studio had given up nothing, but the second, what appeared to be a storage area for supplies, had spoken loudly to him. He had one last corner to explore and then he'd go for his kit and dig in.

Moving the beam of his flashlight to the far end of the room he proceeded carefully through the maze of cans, containers, canvases, frames, and other assorted artist paraphernalia. He scanned each thing briefly until one particular item in the very back against the wall begged more intense study. He painstakingly managed to make his way closer to it without disturbing anything and was finally able to light it up with the beam of his flashlight more thoroughly.

"Sometimes it's what doesn't fit that matters," he whispered. He was about to squat down and lean in to get a more certain look, but was robbed of the chance.

The sharp cracking sound that should have made Nick jump back, froze him instead. Just for a split second, just for a lone breath. The one in which the floor gave way underneath his feet.

_To Be Continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Author: Signs Of Sun

Series Title: Touched By Gravity

Genre: General/Angst (Series)

Characters: Nick and Sara. Whole team although light on Greg.

Spoilers: None for future episodes, but a few references to past seasons.

Summary: Nick's investigation of a case is abruptly interrupted. It may take a little teamwork to solve the case with him out of commission. Or is he really? Just might he still be able to provide an essential connection to the truth?

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

_Touched By Gravity III_

The night's crispness washed over Sara's face as she stepped through the door and out into the parking lot. Its impact pulled her body further out of the warm cocoon of grogginess she had wandered the day trapped inside of. The half emptied coffee cup grasped in her right hand had made its own considerable contributions also while back inside the lab. She was fairly confident it was her third cup and not her fourth as Greg had insisted it was. Finally released from Grissom duty though she'd slowed down her pace a little anyway. In fact, Grissom had even snagged Greg to wrap up the loose ends of his case so she would be freed up to play catch up on Nick's. Wherever Nick was that is. Grissom had attempted to call him on his cell, receiving only his voice mail, and Warrick had tried his home phone, rewarded there only with the answering machine.

"Hey Sara wait up!" she heard a voice call out from behind her. Sara stopped and turned to see Warrick and Catherine casually making their way across the parking lot towards her. Taking a slow sip from her coffee she waited for them.

"You headed out to the crime scene?" Catherine questioned as they finally reached her.

"Yeah. Thought I better at least see the crime scene once before Nick has the case wrapped up. Then I can say I did something," Sara replied with a grin.

"Nick's place is on the way to our case so we're going to swing by and see about waking that sleepyhead up."

"You guys just can't pass up the chance to tease him, can you?"

"Guilty as charged," Warrick admitted. He shifted his weight from his left foot to the right and back then scuffed the bottom of his shoe across the pavement. Hiding anxiety was never his forte. Both of his coworkers noticed, but Sara was first to comment on it.

"I'm sure he just overslept and will be thoroughly embarrassed when you two appear on his doorstep."

"She's right Warrick. I was talking to Ecklie earlier and he was griping about Nick still being here hours after we all we had gone home to bed."

"Yeah. I know. You're probably right. But it's not like him to not answer his cell."

"That's weird," Sara commented. Her gaze was focused on something over Warrick's right shoulder.

"What?"

"Well Nick may not be here, but his vehicle is," Sara responded and with her free hand pointed off to the corner of the lot. Both Catherine and Warrick twisted to look over their shoulders to the spot she indicated. There sat Nick's SUV, dark and empty. Motion returned to all three after a still beat. At a brisk walk they headed for the vehicle.

"Yeah, that's it," Warrick responded after taking a quick peek at the license plate.

"Did he get here in the last couple minutes and we just missed him maybe?" Catherine suggested as she studied the vehicle more closely, moving towards the drivers side until she reached the hood.

"I don't think so, but I'll check it out," Warrick responded. His voice now held a tauntness that revealed his renewed concern.

"Go ahead but I don't think you'll find him," Catherine stated as she left the front end of the SUV and peered inside the drivers side of the truck.

"Why not?"

"Engine's cold. It's been here a while."

"I'm goin' to check anyway," Warrick replied already in motion back towards the building.

"I swear if he vanished into thin air again…" Catherine's started before letting the words fade in volume until they were only inside her head.

"What?" Sara asked.

"When we find him, I'm going to wring his neck," Catherine commented.

"That doesn't seem to make any sense. Go through the trouble of finding him to just throttle him?"

"Well first I'll _hug_ him. _Then_ I'll wring his neck."

"Oh-well-that makes much more sense. I think."

Warrick's return drew their attention.

"He logged out one of the lab vehicles a couple hours ago. He's probably out at the crime scene and lost track of time," he informed them. There was relief in his tone and his body had released some of its tension. Catherine let out an exhale she'd been holding on to and Sara couldn't resist making a comment to lighten the air.

"Damn. And here I was hoping I would actually get to at least see the crime scene while it was still an _unsolved_ crime."

"You just wanted to put in for more overtime. See if you can set the record for most hours in a week," Warrick proposed with a relieved grin and confident bob of the head.

"That's not it, is it Sara? You wanted to be the one to swoop in and find the vital piece of the puzzle that cracks the case. That's the real reason, isn't it Sara?" Catherine followed up with.

"Well, okay maybe just a little," Sara confessed, adorning a smirk.

"We should head out I guess," Catherine announced. She landed a light pat on Warrick's shoulder to prompt him into action.

"See ya Sara," he offered and tailed his partner off to the left to their awaiting vehicle.

"Yeah see you then. Case all wrapped up and solved with a big red bow." Sara began to head off to her own SUV when Warrick's voice regained her attention.

"Hey and tell Nick to turn his phone on already!" he called out as he jumped into the drivers side of the Tahoe.

"Will do."

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The headlights of the Tahoe bounced off the white metal of the next mailbox along Cody Road, illuminating the number 732 there.

"Here we go," Sara stated almost eagerly. Turning into the long driveway she slowed down and clicked the radio off. She liked to listen at a volume that drown out everything else sometimes and just be inside it while she drove. It kept the all too frequent and circular thoughts to a minimum so she could go into a case with plenty of mind space for the new information that would leap out at her upon stepping into the crime scene. Finally the range of the headlight beams reached the end of the driveway, shining brightly back in her eyes off the taillights of Nick's SUV parked there.

Cutting the engine Sara was suddenly thrust into blackness. She looked around and discovered there was only a sole light on in the one of the front rooms of the house and that was all. The rest of the property was unlit and quiet. She grabbed her flashlight and kit and went in search of Nick.

"Nick! Nick! It's Sara. Where are you?" she called out from just inside the doorway of the house. Her voice echoed back to her ears, but no response followed it. The crime scene seal on the door had been cut so he was in the house somewhere. Most likely Nick was out of earshot so she went from room to room downstairs, eliminating one at a time as Nick's whereabouts.

"Hey Nick!" she announced her presence a second time as she slowly climbed the staircase. Again a tense silence answered her. For a few seconds she paused at the top of the stairs, her gut sending up a red flag that something wasn't right. All the lights upstairs were off, but Sara decided to check it out anyway. There was something churned up in her, screaming out to her mind that something was off, so she proceeded flashlight in one hand and gun in the other.

She didn't holster it until she was standing in the last bedroom which from its contents appeared to be that of Amlyn Marshall, the victim. The house was empty, but she couldn't seem to dismiss the ominous feeling gnawing away at her.

Sara wandered the room with her flashlight skimming over the physical reminders of a young life live and lost. For some reason the photos were always the hardest to look at. There was some sharp edged weapon embedded in them that tore at her mercilessly. They were frozen images of someone living life who wouldn't have another day, another moment to photograph with that light in their eyes.

So she looked away from the pictures and out through the window. Amlyn Marshall's bedroom overlooked the expansive backyard which included a second smaller building. Not as big as the house, but definitely not a garage or storage shed.

Sara made her way back through the house and out into the night, suspecting that this was where Nick had disappeared to. There didn't appear to be any lights on inside though she noted as she approached.

"Nick, it's me Sara!" she called out, announcing her presence to prevent surprising him. Stepping through the doorway she found only more darkness and that same thick silence that had hung in the air in the house. Sara looked back over her shoulder at two SUVs sitting in the driveway and that unsettled tingle arose in her gut again, stronger this time. The Tahoe, two dark and empty buildings, and hours that had gone by since anyone had seen Nick.

"Nick? Nick? You in here? It's Sara! I've finally arrived to solve the case for you. Nick!" she yelled out, shattering the stillness with the worry in it. With her flashlight she methodically panned the beam over the interior of the building from where she stood at the threshold of entering in completely.

"Whoa! What the heck happened in here?" she asked aloud. She continued to scan the room with her flashlight a small fraction at a time. Everything on the south side of the huge room looked normal but the north end was the exact opposite, a chaotic array of debris.

"Nick?" she called out one more time. After a few seconds of silence as a reply she was about to depart the studio and return to check the house more thoroughly for Nick, but curiosity got the better of her. She moved a few feet further into the room and inspected the debris laid out in front of her. Canvases, cans, tools, pieces of wood, drop cloths, and dozens of other objects littered the area. The question of where it all came from only flashed in her mind for a fraction of second before she tilted her head back and looked up, finding a gaping hole in the floor of the second level.

She moved the beam from her flashlight back down to the heap of wreckage directly underneath the spot. What the light happened to land upon cut short the inhale of air she had been taking into her lungs. There, just barely illuminated in the circle of light, was a person. Three quarters buried underneath the mountain of junk that had rained down from above there was definitely someone. The elbow and the upper portion of a person's right arm were visible. A portion of a jean clad leg poked out from below the edge of a pile of large white drop clothes.

Quickly making her way to the victim Sara put her fingertips to the person's wrist and found the sluggish beating of a heart. Carefully removing a drop cloth, two canvases, ceramic pottery pieces, and a few other assorted pieces of debris she finally made it down through the layers covering them. Before even shining the light directly on the person sprawled out on floor at her feet she saw the item that made her heart skip a beat. It was the all too familiar CSI vest, its reflective stripe standing out in the dim glow in the room, and then there on the chest the embroidered letters spelling out _Stokes_.

"Oh my god Nick!" she spat out as she moved the beam of her flashlight to his face. His features were relaxed and his eyes were closed.

"Nick? Nick? Can you hear me?" Sara called out as she knelt beside his still form. When she received no response she settled her gaze on his chest. The very subtle rise and fall of his body spiraled relief through her. Seeing that he was breathing on his own she retrieved her cell from her pocket without ever allowing her eyes to leave Nick's motionless form.

"911 Emergency."

"This is Sara Sidle. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I need a ambulance at 732 Cody Road. We have an injured CSI here."

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

"So what do you think?" Brass questioned, his voice brimming with curiosity.

"I think Mrs. Gaston was a very flexible person," Grissom stated without removing his gaze from the form in the recliner a few feet in front of them.

"Yeah she had…how should I put it…_talent_," Brass responded, shaking his head at the scene. It made every bone and muscle in his body ache just looking at the vic, a contortionist. She had died while having sex that utilized her abilities. He and Gil exchanged an agreeing glance just as Grissom's cell began ringing. Pulling the phone from his pocket and flipping it open he saw it was Sara.

"Get out to the Marshall crime scene yet?" he inquired.

"Yeah. I'm here now. Gris, there was an accident here. Nick took a fall and..."

"Is he injured?" Grissom jumped in with before Sara could continue.

"Out cold. Ambulance is on the way. He…"

"Vitals?" Grissom asked interrupting her once again.

"I was getting to that. Pulse is sluggish but steady. His respirations are low though. Looks like the floor on the second level gave way."

"We'll meet you at the hospital?"

"Meet who at the hospital?" Brass asked the instant that Grissom closed the phone and spun to head towards the door. Brass tailed him through the maze of a crime scene as if they were racing to see who could hit the doorway first. He didn't even reduce his pace as he called over instructions to the CSI snapping photos in the entryway.

"Markowitz, stay here and process the scene and I'll check in with you."

"Gil? Gil!" Brass called out urgently, finally capturing his attention.

"That was Sara. Nick's been injured."

"How bad?"

"I know as much as you do right now."

"Maybe we should just stop letting him outside of the lab," Brass commented, at a half jog to keep alongside Grissom.

"I'm seriously considering it," the other man replied as they hopped into the Tahoe.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Sara moved to stand in the doorway of the studio and looked longingly out at the darkness. The Marshall house stood on the outskirts of the city and the road leading away was much too long and far too empty at the moment. Perhaps it was the illusion of how time slows down when you are waiting but an eternity had passed and there was still not even a slightest trace of sirens approaching. Quiet had thoroughly taken hold on the night. She let her head fall to the side and rest against the frame of the door. The question of how long Nick had been lying there alone, buried underneath all that debris, crept into her mind. The paramedics would undoubtedly ask her and she was empty handed of an answer. A blend of sadness and guilt spread outward from her heart. She was supposed to have been on this case with him, but Grissom had needed her more and Nick got left behind. But Nick being the person he was had been understanding and it suddenly sprang into her mind that there were times when they all had taken advantage of that quality in him. This time it had been costly. It was funny how nobody noticed until something went wrong. And given what had happened to him not so long ago they were negligent for not taking better precautions. How quickly they let things slide. At the same time she could feel the irritation at Grissom swelling. If Greg had been there to utilize why had he kept her tied up so long with stuff Sanders could have certainly handled. The softest of noises, a near frustrated growl, slipped out her lips and into the dark. It nearly masked the sound that came from behind her, but she just caught the faint moan that emanated from Nick.

"Are you with me Nick?" she asked full of hope and quickly making her way back to him.

"Nick?" Sara whispered, kneeling down on the spot on the floor she had cleared away near his right side. Just as she leaned over his body to look straight down at his face his brown eyes peeked open just a tiny fraction. At first they were wild, moving rapidly and chaotically about.

"It's okay," Sara gently offered and his eyes focused on her. They were intensely dark and fearful which triggered her own to water with the beginnings of tears. To counteract them she drew on the relief that he was conscious to create a gentle smile for him. As he peered up at her a few seconds longer a grateful recognition poured into his eyes, lightening them slightly. It was fleeting though. Barely a heartbeat later he was seized with a sudden wave of pain. His body tensed up and he let out a agonizing grunt. Nick clamped his eyes closed, breaking the connection between them.

"It's alright. You're gonna be okay," Sara stated as if it was fact she read in a book. The confidence in it coming true flooded through inside the tone of her voice. Nick opened his mouth slightly but no sound came out. For a heartbeat he struggled to force the creation of words but was met with defeat in finding his voice. Sara watched as he ran his tongue over his lips and made another go at talking but the sound never arrived.

"It's okay Nick. You don't have to talk. There's an ambulance of the way. Looks like you took a pretty bad fall. But we're gonna take care of you."

He abandoned attempting to speak and his eyes peeked opened again.

"Hi there," she answered his action with. She locked eyes with him and held her breath while he gulped in an exaggerated inhale of air. She finally let the air out of her own lungs involuntarily when his face became strained like he was fighting back tears. He was clearly in pain and breathing was rapidly turning an uphill battle for him.

Sara slid her hand over top of his and wrapped her fingers in so they tucked into his palm. She gave it a gentle squeeze but his hand didn't react by holding on so she stayed connected with him by maintaining her gaze down at him. In the glow from the flashlight that she had laid beside her leg she saw what was left of his color completely drain from his face and he started to gasp for air.

"Nick? Nick? Relax. Relax. It'll make it easier to breath. I promise the ambulance is on its way," she whispered, squeezing his hand tightly and scooting closer to his side. In his panic he clamped his eyes shut again, snapped the visual bond between them. His breathing grew into a near wheeze within seconds and Sara could feel their connection slipping away.

"Open your eyes Nick. Please open your eyes. Look at me Nick," she pleaded quietly. But his eyes remained closed and his distress intensified. Sara bit down on his lip, half angry at her uselessness and half heartbroken at what Nick was going through. When his eyes were opened she had connected with him, on some deep powerful level. The darkness of those brown eyes had brightened and she had been able to offer him something unidentifiable but desperately needed.

The anger that had rushed in on her at his distress, dissolved just as quickly when she realized that the room was suddenly silent again. It pulled her back from the momentary haze she had been lost in. Looking down at his closed eyes and relaxed features she found that Nick had stopped breathing.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Jim Brass watched Gil Grissom from his seat in the far corner of the ER waiting room. There was a frantic concern about the way Grissom tapped his fingertips on the arm of the chair he had finally sat down in. Gil was normally a man of steady tempo, but not in this moment. That predictable pace, full of logic and level headedness, was visibly waning. The rest of his body was stationary and Jim wondered if Gil even realized he was bouncing his fingertips off the wood of the chair's arm at such a chaotic rate.

They had arrived at the hospital only to discover that the ambulance en route to Nick hadn't even arrived there yet. There had been a large fire at a hotel downtown and it had tied up a lot of EMS at that location. So the bus had to travel all the way out to the far reaches of the city to the Marshall house. And even with sirens clearing the way and the medics having been informed the patient was LVPD it would still take time to cover the distance.

Perhaps they should have pushed for a MedEvac transport, Jim thought briefly. Then shook his head at himself recalling that they hadn't because of the shear number and severity of the injured at the fire. Sara had said Nick had a steady, albeit sluggish, pulse and was breathing on his own. And as hard as it had been they had resisted the urge to demand the chopper lift. Nick had a steady pulse and had been breathing. Those words had nearly become a mantra inside in his mind. That provided some microscopic shred of comfort. Although that situation could change in the blink of an eye. Jim knew that and so did Grissom. Maybe it accounted for Gil's uncharacteristic nervous energy. Sometimes knowledge was more of a curse than a blessing. The intense expression on Gil's face Jim had witnessed before though. The last time being that day they had been racing a rapidly progressing stop clock to find Nick and pull him out of hell. Brass made a mental note to buy Nicky a lucky charm. The boy sure could use one. He'd seen more than his fair share of trials and those were just the ones Jim knew about personally, but after years on the force he had gained the acute ability to read people, in their body language and especially in their eyes. It came in handy in catching people in lies. But also it revealed that sometimes there was more to the story of someone's life, how they became who they were. Nick's eyes gave him away, at least to Jim. There had definitely been more lumps that Nick had weathered. Whatever they were he had overcome them with a lot of grace. He would have to have had to be the person Brass knew.

"Coffee?" Jim asked when his thoughts started down a road he didn't wish to go down. Nick was tougher than some gave him credit for. The question Jim had asked went unanswered so he tried again.

"Gil?" he said more loudly and lethargically pushed himself into a standing position. Grissom turned his head and looked up at him, but there was a beat of delay before Gil responded.

"I'm sorry Jim. Did you say something?"

"I asked if you wanted some coffee. My treat."

"Yes. That would be helpful about now."

"I know what you mean," Brass replied and made his way along the hallway. He would eventually make his way towards the cafeteria and purchase the strongest coffee he could get. But first diverted his course out through the emergency room's sliding door and into the ambulance bay. Taking a deep breath of the cool night air he felt a little more focused and pulled his cell from his jacket pocket.

"Willows," the distracted female voice answered on the third ring.

"Catherine, it's Brass."

"What's up Jim?"

"Well, unfortunately, you aren't going to like the answer to that question."

"Oh why's that?"

"I'm down at the ER with Gil. Nick's been hurt."

"Hurt? How bad?"

"I don't know the details yet. We're waiting for the ambulance to get back here. Grissom spoke with Sara and she said that Nick was breathing on his own, but unconscious. Apparently he took a fall of some kind out at that crime scene."

"Alright Warrick and I are on our way."

"Okay. See you in a few."

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Grissom glanced down at his hand and realized he'd been tapping his fingertips on the arm of the chair he was seated in. He stared at them, frozen in the last position they had landed in before he noticed them. It wasn't something he found himself doing very often, but the fact that each time he had he'd been so lost inside his own head that he hadn't known he was doing it was what truly bugged him. So he stood up, eliminating the possibility it would happen again. Simple as that to remove the physical manifestation of his collection of thoughts, but not enough to stop the thoughts themselves.

Nick shouldn't have been alone at that crime scene. First, Nicky should have gone home like Grissom instructed him to do. Secondly, and more importantly, where along the line did the new stricter safety procedures slip out of their grasp. They had been implemented mere months before. And it hadn't been just today that Nick had been out there alone. Grissom had been fully aware he'd been solo out there the day before. Then tonight Sara had told him he was going out to the scene on her own, before they knew Nick had logged out a vehicle and gone out there. And he hadn't stopped either of them or assigned some back up to go along with them.

He had wanted his team back. And he had gotten every member of it. But where had the teamwork gone? What crucial piece had he forgotten to add to the mixture? What missing thread would have saved Nick from having to overcome yet another hurdle?

Gil blew out a heavy breath and slowly lowered himself back down into the chair.

"I'm sorry I let you down Nicky," he whispered when the thought that he had chased away earlier crept back into his mind. Sara had informed him that Nick had a pulse and was breathing on his own. But Gil knew that anything could change in a heartbeat. And if the heart of the team disappeared could they survive it?

_To Be Continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

Author: Signs Of Sun

Series Title: Touched By Gravity

Genre: General/Angst (Series)

Characters: Nick and Sara. Whole team although light on Greg.

Spoilers: None for future episodes, but a few references to past seasons.

Notes: Thanks everyone for the reviews! Much appreciated. Here's a nice long chapter for you. Enjoy!

Summary: Nick's investigation of a case is abruptly interrupted. It may take a little teamwork to solve the case without him in the picture. Or is he really? Just might he still be able to provide an essential connection to the truth?

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

_Touched By Gravity IV_

Sara took a deep inhale for herself then another to give to him and returned her lips to Nick's. Giving him a slow breath she clung to the image inside her memory of those brown eyes peering up at her only minutes earlier. There had been light, plenty of life, left in them. Although intense with fear and pain at first his gaze had fought away that darkness and smiled up at her. She wasn't going to let that slip away from her into nonexistence.

One more breath for him and it was time to check his pulse again so she pulled her lips from his mouth. Sliding two fingers onto his neck and waiting his heart beat once for her. And finding that the next was severely delayed in arriving she encouraged him.

"That's it Nick. Fight it," she whispered, leaning back in preparing to breath for him again. Her lips were so close to his when she spoke that Sara could feel the heat of her own breath bounce back against the skin of her cheeks.

She longed to cry. The tears were there collecting in her heart, building up pressure until they were about to spill over into their physical form and make their presence known by rolling down her cheeks. But her intellect demanded she hold back the selfish tears and focus for Nick's sake. She was the only shred of hope he had at that moment. Without her he would die.

So falling into a steady careful rhythm of taking in long deep breaths then lowering her mouth over Nick's Sara refreshed his air, his life. Each time her skin met Nick's she used the warmth of his skin as a weapon to battle off the tears. Somewhere in her mind the heat that radiated off him was irrefutable evidence. It empowered her. He was still here. She just needed to help him fight. She just had to force the darkness tugging at him to retreat.

And soon her internal fight had been victorious, the tears were prisoners locked away inside her, and she was on autopilot breathing life into Nicholas Stokes. The rest of the world dissolved away and there were only two things that existed in the entire world, her body and his. There was simply nothing else. Because nothing else mattered.

It wasn't until the two men were just outside the doorway to the studio that their voices penetrated through the thick haze encircling Sara's mind.

"Paramedics!" a call finally came crashing in. She gave Nick one more long offering of air and sat back on her heels.

"In here!" she yelled back. The desperation in her own voice took her by surprise. Once method had taken over she had forgotten about the intensity of her emotions. But now she had just been pulled from that surreal place, almost like waking from a strange and very deep dream world.

She tore her gaze from Nick's closed eyes and breathless lips for long enough to glance over her shoulder and see them entering the room.

"He's not breathing!" she informed them. The first medic made it through the maze of debris that had been strewn about by digging Nick out. He dropped his supply bag and squatted a foot to Sara's left. He quickly checked for a heartbeat and breath sounds.

"Okay, no resps. Lindley, I need a Ambu bag and mask." the paramedic told his partner and extended his hand out into the air to his left in anticipation of the other man handing it to him. With his free hand he made an initial check to see if Nick had a pulse.

"Got a pulse. Slow but present."

"Ambu bag," the other medic said placing it into his partner's grasp. He took it and held it up in the air, showing it to her.

"I see you're LVPD. You know how to bag someone?" he asked Sara who was kneeled near Nick's right shoulder. She nodded and took the bag from him, placed the mask over Nick's mouth, and started squeezing air into his body at an even pace. She let her gaze float away from his face and watched the two medics work. The one who had handed her the bag had retrieved a stethoscope and the other held onto a backboard while pushing debris away with his foot. Once a large enough area was cleared he laid the board down along Nick's right side and Sara scooted closer to the top of Nick's head.

After the first medic had listened to Nick's chest for a few seconds and then slipped a C-collar around his neck he quietly questioned Sara.

"Name's Tierney. You're CSI?" he said, gesturing a hand briefly towards Sara's vest.

"Yeah. Sidle. Sara Sidle."

"Normally I'd say nice to make your acquaintance, but given the circumstances I'll put manners aside and get down to business. Any idea what happened?"

"He fell…from up there," Sara responded and nodded her head upwards, her hands occupied supplying oxygen to Nick. Finished with checking Nick's eyes for reaction with a pen light Tierney directed the beam of his larger flashlight at the huge hole in the ceiling above their heads.

"And how long ago was that?" he asked, laying the light back on the floor and methodically but rapidly giving Nick's body a survey for injuries.

"I'm sorry. I don't know exactly. He was here alone for a while. When I found him he was unconscious," she responded with a hint of sadness seeping through inside it.

"Quick Scoop?" the other medic asked, referring to the rate at which they would evaluate and load into the ambulance.

"Yep. Let's get him on the board," he responded and positioned his hands on Nick's body to roll the right side of him off the ground so his partner could slide the backboard underneath. Sara assisted, momentarily removing the mask, and placing a hand on either side of Nick's head to prevent any potentially harmful movement there when they rolled him.

"Do you know his name?" the other medic, whose name tag read Lindley, asked.

"Nick. Nick Stokes."

"Was he responsive at all?" Tierney jumped in with.

"He opened his eyes briefly. Disoriented at first but then he recognized me."

"Any idea of how long he was awake for?"

"A couple of minutes. No longer."

"And how long ago did he stop breathing?"

"It seemed like a long time but that's probably just an illusion. Few minutes maybe."

At this answer Tierney helped his partner strap Nick onto the backboard, ensuring he was in a straight line and immobilized.

"Ready?" Lindley inquired, moving the ambulance cot as close as possible amongst the wreckage from the ceiling.

"Tired yet? Can you continue to bag him for one more second?" Tierney rapidly threw out to Sara as he went to get Nick's pulse rate again. She had been watching their movements so intently she had once again gone into autopilot. Her right hand squeezed the next burst of air into Nick's lungs while her left held the mask in place over his face. She swallowed hard as a trickle of emotion leaked back to the surface. For a guilty second she preferred the autopilot haze from earlier. It was less painful than looking down at Nick bound to a backboard, his body limp, and unable to even breathe on his own.

Sara shook her head positively at Tierney; she would maintain her hold on the mask and the attached bag that was getting precious oxygen into Nick.

"Ready. Set. Go!" Tierney instructed his younger partner and they lifted the backboard onto the stretcher and secured it in place. Tierney then placed his hand on the air bag that Sara has holding. She didn't remove her hand so the medic tried to jumpstart a reaction from her.

"It's okay you can let go. We're going to intubate him now," Tierney stated. And Sara almost reluctantly let him take over and stepped aside. But empty handed, which made her feel useless, she searched for something to offer. Merely a breath later she was holding onto Nick's right hand tightly.

"Ready with the laryngoscope?" Tierney asked the other man.

"Here you go," Lindley replied, handing the scope and ET tube to him.

"Okay we're gonna tube him and then hit it out of here. I could use some additional lights guys," Tierney stated. Both his partner and Sara reacted by holding up flashlights for him to work by. The medic had to fight a little to get Nick's jaw to open wider. The left side of Nick's face had started swelling and the hard shelled collar around his neck made it difficult, but the medic managed finally to achieve what he needed. Sara suddenly had to look away. She had seen the procedure done before up close. This was Nick though and watching him have a tube put in him was a harsh blow to her heart.

"Got it!" he finally announced and Lindley attached the bag-valve apparatus to the tube and started to push air into Nick's lungs. Tierney delicately secured the very last strap across Nick's forehead.

In the next heartbeat the world seemed to speed up for Sara into a fast forward blur. Just as carefully and calmly as the paramedics had evaluated and prepared their patient for transport, they just as urgently and determinedly got him in the awaiting bus and on his way to the hospital.

Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

As the SUV exited the parking lot onto the street Warrick balled his right hand into a tight fist and fought the urge to punch the dashboard. There had been so much lost time while he had had to wait for Catherine to organize the scene enough for the others to take over before they could depart. It had to be done, but the lapse had given his mind too much opportunity to create worst case scenarios. Realizing he was rapidly losing the battle to not bash the dashboard into a new design he shifted in his seat, hoping it would relieve some of the physical energy that had pent up inside him since Brass' call about Nick. Catherine noticed the awkward restless movements and glanced over at him from the driver's seat.

"You okay?" she asked, returning her gaze to the road.

"No. I'm not _okay_ Catherine."

"Warrick you know what I meant."

"Yeah I'm sorry. It's just…"

"Hard?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes we make the mistake of forgetting how tough Nick is. He'll be okay."

"He shouldn't have to Catherine. Hasn't he had his fair share of crap the last couple years?"

"True. But like the rest of us he chose this line of work and we have all had to take the good with the bad of it. Nick knew that, but, yes, he does seem to have gotten his serving a little heavy with the negative."

"You're blaming Nick?"

"No. I'm not blaming Nick. How could I do that? We don't even know what happened. Besides I _wouldn't _do that. You know that Warrick. At least you better."

Silence took over the interior of the car for an entire two mile stretch. Warrick kept checking his watch even though only a few seconds had passed each and every time and Catherine focused on driving. Finally when they had to slow their speed because of a truck that was pulling off the road up ahead of them Warrick regained some of his focus.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you Catherine. It's just that this…_all of this… _recently has made me realize something. Nicky is like a brother to me. Growin' up I had friends. Ya know to hang out with and get into trouble with. But I grew up in the world of gambling and even when somebody was your friend there was never complete trust there. Because of the environment. Because of the agendas. But Nick…Nick…he's the real deal."

Sensing Catherine's gaze on him Warrick glanced at her and she offered him an agreeing smile. So Warrick continued.

"I've had my moments where I'm tempted with old _bad habits_. Sometimes I get further than others. The last time that I got a little too far Nick was there for me. Didn't rag me out, didn't judge, just sat down next to me and was a friend. The real deal."

"Heart o' gold," Catherine said quietly with a unique mixture of sadness and smile in her voice.

"Yeah. All the way!" Warrick responded and they were silent again for a moment. Catherine studied the reflection in the rearview mirror intently.

"What is it?" Warrick asked and looked in his own side mirror.

"I thought I saw something before we went over that last rise," she replied and rolled down her window a crack. The sound was faint, but unmistakable. There was the harsh wale of an ambulance siren approaching tearing apart the calm night air. They exchanged a quick glance and then returned to keeping a watchful eye on the rearview mirror. Hearing the haunting cry of the siren and not being able to see the ambulance, for some reason, knocked the air out of Warrick's body.

"It's coming from the right direction," Catherine commented tensely. Not a heartbeat later the brilliant red lights of an ambulance appeared in the reflected image of the section of road that they had just covered. When the other vehicle had closed the distance a little Catherine pulled the Tahoe over to the side. The eeriness of the siren's cry made waiting torture. Catherine distracted herself from it by flipping on the lights on their own vehicle which she had forgotten to do when they departed their crime scene. Warrick simply fixed his gaze on the image in the mirror. The sirens may have torn through the still air with urgency but the ambulance seemed to close the gap in slow motion. The reality of how fast it was actually traveling at only struck Warrick and Catherine when it flew by them. The instant it cleared them Catherine pulled back onto the road and laid on the gas pedal.

"Hang on," she commented, doing remarkably well at keeping up with the ambulance. The ambulance that had to be carrying Nicky.

"God, they're flyin'," Warrick stated, concerned. Catherine glanced down at the speedometer and saw it wasn't an illusion. They were flying and that couldn't be good.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The cycle of the ambulance's siren had become part of Sara. From where she sat at the head of the cot behind the driver's seat she could both watch the portable heart monitor attached to Nick and be attentive of the rise and fall of his chest. As the ambulance's cry grew, ascending to a high pitch she anticipated the spike on the monitor that indicated a beat of Nick's heart and as the siren descended into a lower pitch she checked his chest to make sure that the air being pumped into him was getting where it needed to go. It was becoming rhythmic the way she would watch the monitor and then him then the monitor and him once again. The medic, Tierney, had noticed what she was doing as he was taping the IV line down on Nick's hand and then gone about checking his blood pressure. Sara had just stolen her gaze from the monitor when she caught his understanding smile out of the corner of her eye. She had then explained to Tierney how the repetition of the two focused tasks was a good method to stay levelheaded. At that the medic's understanding smile evolved into a grin and he voted for his theory, that the tasks served as distraction. Supposedly the theory was based on years of field experience, but Sara informed him that although she would take his theory into consideration her preference was how own. Secretly she thanked him for trying to make the ride pass by with the thoughts. A long lull in conversation followed in which the sound of the siren, the heart monitor, and the vehicle bouncing over the imperfections in the road filled the air. Sara's gaze trailed away from the monitor's screen to Nick's chest as the low section of the siren's wale arrived once again. His body had changed though, it wasn't as relaxed as it had been. She instantly looked down at his face and realized something was wrong. Nick's whole body had become rigid.

"What's happening to him?" Sara asked. The stress in her voice saturated each word. The medic looked from Nick's body to the portable monitor as the slow predictable rhythm that had been there changed into a more frantic disorganized one. Next he studied Nick's slight jerky movements for a few seconds.

"What's wrong?" Sara tried again, demandingly. This time it was nearly more angry than worried.

"He's going into a seizure," the paramedic answered and got up off the seat to retrieve supplies from the compartment above the stretcher.

"Lindley! Radio in for a meds order. He's seizing!" the medic called out to his partner who was driving the bus. Just as he finished the words Nick's body began to twitch more violently. His arms, legs, and head involuntarily strained against the constraints of the straps holding him down against the back board.

"You got it!" the other man returned with just as Nick went into full fledged convulsions. Sara could hear the muffled radio communication as the medic leaned over the stretcher no more than two feet from her and prepared the drug that he would administer to Nick to hopefully stop the seizure.

"You're good to go!" his partner yelled back. His voice was followed by a significant jump in their speed over the road. Sara could tell they were pushing the limits of the vehicle and she was grateful to the driver. If he hadn't been pushing it she would have been even angrier. Sitting back down Tierney, at Nick's side, emptied the contents of the syringe he had prepared into the IV.

"C'mon Nick," Sara whispered more as a wish than encouragement to Nick.

"C'mon Nick. Fight through it."

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Grissom tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash can and stuffed both hands into his pants pockets. The right one only stayed there a few seconds before he decided to check his watch again. He liked to keep a mental log of how long things took in urgent situations. It gave him an objective guideline for signs of progress. He noted it had been minutes less than he had anticipated and wandered to the edge of the waiting room. Studying the goings on there he spotted Brass near the nurse's station. He had his cell phone to his ear and was taking a quick sip from his coffee. Gil was about to head over to him, but his own cell rang stopping him.

"Grissom."

"It's Warrick."

"No news yet Warrick."

"Actually I think that Catherine and I are behind the ambulance. We just turned onto Sand Street. About five minutes out."

"Thanks Warrick. See you in a minute then," Grissom responded and flipped the phone closed. After tucking it back in his pocket he headed over to Brass.

"Again it was Jim Brass of the Las Vegas PD and my number is 702-505-6622." Brass turned off the phone and lethargically stuffed it back in the inside pocket of his coat. Then he stared down at his coffee, mentally checking off items on his to do list. He didn't notice Grissom arriving at his side so when the other man spoke he jerked to attention.

"Warrick just called. He and Catherine are probably tailing the ambulance that is carrying Nick. They should be here in a few minutes."

"Okay," Brass responded and nodded his head. His distraction was obvious.

"Anything I can help with?" Grissom inquired.

"Oh, no, it's just I've tried Nick's parents three times now and only ever get their voice mail."

"We'll get a hold of them. If not tonight then certainly in the morning at their offices. We don't even know Nick's condition yet. They would have had questions that you probably don't have the answers to anyway."

"Yeah. Yeah. You're right," Jim replied, but failed to convince either of them that it had helped any. He was going to follow up with a list of the other calls he had made, but a familiar voice ended him relaying it to Gil.

"Grissom! Grissom! How is he? What exactly happened? How bad is it? What are his injuries?" Greg questioned in rapid fire as he nearly jogged to where they stood at the desk.

"We don't know yet. The ambulance should be here any second. Wait a minute. How did you find out?" Grissom said.

"I overheard Ecklie talking about it."

"And how did Ecklie know?"

"I called him. To let him know what was going on and get Mr. and Mrs. Stokes number," Brass stated, filling in the blanks. Any further discussion was dropped when the siren of an ambulance, pulling into the ambulance bay outside, floated into the ER. The three men didn't say another word, just moved to the end of the nurse's station where they could see anyone entering and waited.

Gil's steady normal heartbeat tracked the time until it had hit seventy five counts. Then before the next beat could arrive the first set of doors to the ER slid open. There was the length of a hallway and the second, closer set, of doors in between but they could see a flurry of human beings in motion filling the entranceway. Grissom studied the body on the cot that was being quickly wheeled in, but his view was obscured so he looked up to those on foot. There was a medic using a bag and mask to force oxygen into the patient's body then another medic and a nurse, who must have been outside to meet them in the ambulance bay. He looked further back and saw her as she came around the corner following the medics. It was Sara which meant that the person on the cot was Nick. Jim must have seen her too because at the same instant they became unfrozen and moved a little closer to meet the group as they passed the desk. Gil hoped to get a glimpse at Nick and he knew that the window of opportunity would be short lived.

Additional nurses and at least one doctor headed towards the second set of doors that separated the ER from the hallway that lead out into the ambulance bay. Just as the second set of doors opened sound seemed to rush back at Grissom. The collection of voices became layered over one another and Gil struggled to make out as many bits and pieces as possible as they passed by. He focused in on the medic's voice knowing that he would offer the most information at that point.

"Nick Stokes. Mid 30s…fell from second floor height……LOC times..…in respiratory arrest. This is his second seizure…."

That was all that Gil managed to catch. It wasn't much due to the rate they passed him by and the jumbled verbal slush caused by too many people talking at once. The glimpses he got of Nicky didn't offer much in addition other than that based upon the bruises on the left side of his face he had taken an impact against something pretty hard.

It wasn't until Grissom looked back a few feet to where he expected Sara would be now that he noticed that directly behind her were Warrick and Catherine. They all ended up standing at the corner of the nurses station watching as the stretcher carrying Nick was wheeled into the trauma room and the curtain there was drawn, hiding him away their sight.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

"You don't give a damn do you?" Sara snapped out. The entire group standing at the back of the waiting room just stared at her. This had been going on for a long string of minutes now, Sara having selected a target for her anger. Focusing in on laying blame kept her from processing what she had gone through with Nick. This was so much easier and came so much naturally to her.

"I do care. Very much," Grissom stated, sounding slightly annoyed that this particular fact wasn't obvious and needed to be verbalized repeatedly. Sara shook her head in disbelief, complete disagreement.

"Right. Right. That's why Nick was _alone_ out there for god knows how long. You have a funny way of showing you care Grissom."

The conversation was rapidly becoming circular. The words were varied a little but the meaning was the same each time either Sara or Gil spoke. The same accusation followed by the same answer over and over. Brass ran a hand over his head onto the back of his neck before jumping in.

"I know you're upset Sara. We're all worried about Nick, but this isn't helping him." His intention was good, but Sara just couldn't see it right then.

"We're all worried? Well not _all_ of us saw how much pain he was in. Not _all_ of us were there when he couldn't breath. Not all of us….I'm sorry. I'm sorry Brass," she practically yelled out before reigning her emotions in enough to apologize and cut it short.

"No apology necessary," Jim replied while he tried to think of something more substantial and helpful. They were interrupted before he could find anything though.

"You're here for Nick Stokes, right?" a voice inquired, approaching the group gathered in the corner of the ER waiting room.

"Yes, doctor, how is he?" Grissom replied as everyone turned their attention to the middle aged man clad in sky blue scrubs, a long white coat, and a pair of multi colored Adidas cross trainers.

"Just so you know I'm Dr. Timmons. We've done an initial evaluation. At the scene he went into respiratory arrest and it's my understanding one of you was there and worked on him until EMS arrived?"

"That was Sara here," Catherine responded and gestured to the woman standing to her left.

"Good work," he softly stated to her specifically before returning his attention to the group as a whole and continuing.

"As you may have noticed when he was brought in we had intubated him. His left lung had collapsed. Mr. Stokes also had a series of seizures. First in the ambulance then here in the ER. We are giving him medication to control the seizures and those appear to be working now so hopefully we can get the tests we need. We'll be bringing him down to CT in just a few minutes. I did have a few more questions. It was Sara, correct?"

"Yes."

"The medics stated he fell through a ceiling, from the second floor to the first?"

"Correct. I didn't see it happen. I arrived afterward."

"And he was on the floor when you found him?"

"Yes."

"EMS provided me with some information of his position when they arrived on scene. Did you move him at all?"

"No. Other than performing rescue breathing and holding his hand I didn't touch him. I know better than that."

"I apologize if that sounded accusatory. It wasn't my intention. It's just that Mr. Stokes is severely bruised on his back, neck, and the back and left side of his head. I'm trying to piece together how he fell and how he landed so I can better treat his injuries."

"Well he was in kind of an odd position," Sara thought out loud.

"What do you mean by odd?"

"It didn't look like he dropped straight down. First, his upper body was angled sharply to the left. Second, there was debris not only on top of him but a lot underneath him too. If he'd gone straight down there probably would have been mostly pieces of the floor itself under him but there was a significant amount of other debris.". Sara concentrated for a moment, letting the image wash over her mind.

"What is it Sara?" Catherine prompted when after the passage of nearly half a minute she was still silent.

"It's just kind of all coming back to me. Nick's head was bent awkwardly to his left shoulder and on the right of his head there wasn't even an inch of space between it and…well…there was a stainless steel pottery kiln there. If Nick fell straight down, judging from the direction the rest of his body was pointed in, there's no way his head and upper body cleared that kiln. There wasn't enough room."

"Well some of the bruising on Mr. Stokes back had a strange pattern, but now that you tell me this I think that it's possible that he maybe impacted the kiln first and then went to the floor."

"Anything else you can tell us about his condition?" Brass interjected with.

"Well possibly some broken ribs. His left knee is dislocated. We've realigned and splinted it. We'll know about any long term damage on that, torn ligaments etc., in a little while. Did you happen to notice his leg and how it was positioned? Again the medics noted it, but I find sometimes the more small things people notice individually can create a better and more complete picture. I'm sure you can understand that being crime scene investigators, right?"

There was a soft chorus of "absolutelys" and "sure cans" before Sara answered his question.

"His leg was tucked up underneath. Bent back so the heel of his left foot was tucked under the upper thigh area of his other leg. Almost like if you are squatting down on your heels. Or sitting cross legged. I'm sorry it's kind of hard to describe. I hope that helps."

"I think I understand what you are getting at. Probably his leg was bent when he landed so it ended up tucked back underneath him. I'll make special note for radiology to check that leg for possible fractures," the doctor said and glanced at the notes he was carrying.

"Does he have any family?"

"I'm Detective Brass. I've left messages for his parents, but haven't managed to get a hold of them directly though. We'll definitely be able to contact them through their offices in the morning if we can't get them at home. But his family is in Texas so they'll need to catch a flight and everything."

"We're Nick's family too. We're the ones who see him every day. We're the ones who are supposed look out for him," Sara commented almost angrily. Her gaze was directed more at Grissom than the doctor though when she spoke, but Dr. Timmons was the one who replied.

"I understand. My brother is LVPD and I've witnessed it personally."

"I knew I recognized that last name. Brian Timmons, sergeant on days, right?" Jim asked.

"That's him."

"Great cop," Brass added.

"He loves what he does and I love what I do so I should be getting back to Mr. Stokes here. My greatest concern right now is head and spinal cord injury. With the respiratory arrest, loss of consciousness, the seizures, and his elevated blood pressure my preliminary concern is brain injury. That's all I know for right now really. I'll update you as soon as I have more information."

"Thank you Dr. Timmons. We appreciate your time," Grissom said quietly.

"You're welcome. We do need to get him down to Radiology, but if maybe one or two of you would like to see him for a just a moment while we are getting him ready to go that would be okay."

"Gil. Maybe you and Warrick would like to go?" Catherine suggested. After a beat of agreeing nods, no objections had been raised so Catherine gave Warrick a tiny encouraging push forward, seeing that he was stalled in the spot he was standing in.

"This way," the doctor offered and headed towards the hallway. Grissom fell in step directly behind and Warrick lagged a little behind the pair at almost injured pace.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Warrick struggled to find some words that captured his emotions properly. But for all his searching those specific words didn't seem to exist in any dictionary that he knew of. And the ones that came closest he couldn't seem to organize into a straight enough line to say them aloud. So looking down at his injured friend he placed a hand on his right shoulder and simply let him know he was there.

"It's me bro. I'm here and I'll never be very far away. So if you have a problem with me crowding you you'll just have to wake up and kick my ass outta here. Cuz, otherwise, you're not getting rid of me."

Grissom looked on from a few feet away as Warrick fell silent. Letting his hand remain on Nick's shoulder Brown hung his head sadly for a few seconds. Gil could see the strain in Warrick's features that fighting not to reveal the depth of his emotions had created. But the emotions were putting up a good fight and Warrick was forced to leave the room abruptly to keep them at bay. The doctor and a nurse tailed him, discussing the tasks they needed to cover.

It left Grissom alone with Nick, the only exception one nurse who was deeply involved in the actions necessary to prepare her patient to be taken out of the ER. For a few extended beats Grissom lingered by the edge of the exam room. The space within the curtained off area there was certainly not large, but somehow being closer to being outside than in it helped the balance of power inside him tip more towards intellect than emotion.

Completing her current task the nurse noticed that Gil hadn't moved since he had entered the room. She offered him a soft encouraging smile before moving on to her next task. It drew him out of his corner, partly because he had been caught in his hiding spot, but mostly because he owed it to the man laying there in front of him.

"Hi Nicky," he whispered finally moving to the spot beside the bed that Warrick had occupied a few moments before. Quiet fell back in the air surrounding the bed as Grissom studied Nick's face, taking note of the details. The harsh lighting in the exam room might have made some minor contribution, but the younger man's face was far from normal complexion. Next there was how his closed eyelids with their unhealthy dark shade stood out so dramatically from his other features. Then the mean looking bruises on the left side of his face demanded attention. And, lastly, the size difference between Nick's left cheek and his right caused by swelling around his left cheekbone was undeniable. Inventorying these details in his head focused Grissom enough to offer Nick something more meaningful than just his initial greeting. He spoke soft in volume, but strong in tone.

"Brass suggested that maybe we shouldn't let you outside of the lab anymore. And at first I seriously considered it, but then I realized that if I keep you locked up in the lab all day I'd be sabotaging myself. Because you see if you're in the lab I'd be short aCSI out in the field. And great CSIs don't grow on trees. They're really rather a rare species. So don't take too long to come back to us. We need you out there. I need you out there Nicky. And I know sometimes you don't think so, but that doesn't make it any less true," he said and in the next breath he had found himself back out in the hallway. The staff members that had exited the room earlier now returned and less than a moment later they emerged, navigating the bed that Nick lay in through the doorway and off down the hall. Grissom's original plan had been to rejoin the others back in the waiting area, but the night was calling him out to take a walk. He needed the sky, the crisp air, and the feel of earth under his feet.

So Gil proceeded past the turn that lead down to the waiting area, through the chaos of the emergency room, and out into the night alone.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

The warm water running over her skin healed the soreness in Sara's hands a little. She hadn't even realized that they had started to cramp up from holding that mask to Nick's face and squeezing the bag that gave him air. She had managed to escape the other CSIs and Brass using the excuse that she needed to freshen up. Catherine had tried to tag along, hovering worriedly. Luckily upon finding the closest bathroom they discovered that it was just around the corner and turned out to be a private one. Sara had deliberately let Catherine use it first so she would have a few unwatched moments for herself once Catherine returned to the waiting room.

She turned off the faucet and dried her hands with a paper towel. Dropping it in the trash she looked up at her reflection in the mirror. And immediately realized it had been a mistake to look because despite every single distraction she had collected along the way the sadness was on her face and in her eyes looked back at her clear as day. They had all seen it and she could no longer deny it.

She leaned against the wall to the right of the sink, hiding from the reflection and suddenly needing the support for her exhausted body. Keeping in physical motion or tangled up something easier, like anger, had kept away unwanted things.

But now all the images and information of Nick had piled up on her. Piece by piece since she had found him a picture had been forming. Like building a puzzle, at some point the scene is there enough to fill in the blank spaces.

Sara fought back the visualization from playing inside her mind. But it won out and the scene unfolded in her head as if she was present observing the whole thing as it happened.

_Nick stood alone in the darkness of the second floor of the Marshall's studio. Shining his flashlight around the north side he made his way carefully amongst the items there, searching. Reaching the very end of the room he set his foot down on a weak spot in the floor and it gave way beneath him, sending him hurtling through the air. On the way down he slammed hard into the top of the stainless steel pottery kiln, his head and back taking the brunt of the impact and creating a heavy thud sound. Nick's body bounced of the right edge of the kiln and dropped onto the floor. Quiet took hold ofevery inch of space inside the room. And, finally, Nick's flashlight which had landed a few feet away flickered twice and then went dark._

Sara tried to choke back a sob as the last image faded out, but it was a futile effort. Using the wall as her guide she sunk to the floor then simply sat there and finally let herself cry.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Dr. Steven Timmons moved briskly along the hallway which lead into the Radiology Department. Skimming back over Nicholas Stokes' chart as he made his way towards CT he nearly slammed into one of the techs coming around the last corner. He barely noticed though, too distracted by what the initial evidence suggested about his patient. Timmons only looked up when he arrived at the door to the viewing room attached to the CT area that Stokes occupied.

"Dr. Zuriff," he said to the already present on call neurologist.

"Dr. Timmons. How are you tonight?"

"Long version or short version?"

"It's late. So the short."

"Well, then, let's just say that's it's been a very long day."

"Well if you intend to follow Mr. Stokes' treatment closely, as I know you have a famous habit of doing with your PD patients to an extreme, then it's about to get a lot longer."

Dr. Timmons didn't like the ominous answer or expression that Zuriff offered him. After a silent beat the neurologist provided him some direction.

"Take a look," he stated, lifting his pen from the notes he was getting down and pointing it towards the monitors. Timmons leaned in and peered over the CT technician's shoulder. It only took a heartbeat of study for him to see what Zuriff was talking about. A tense but adrenaline filled quiet captured the room before Timmons managed an adequate response.

"Damn. That was what I was afraid we were going to find. I was just hoping maybe I was wrong," he stated and pushed a heavy concerned breath from his body. Zuriff rubbed his left temple and followed with a short but powerful comment.

"Yep, either a very long night or one cut tragically short."

_To Be Continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

Author: Signs Of Sun

Series Title: Touched By Gravity

Genre: General/Angst (Series)

Characters: Nick and Sara. Whole team although light on Greg.

Spoilers: None for future episodes, but a few references to past seasons.

Notes: I know the length of the last chapter was kind of excessive, but I decided it worked better as one chapter than broken into two as I originally had it. A chapter that long is rare-even for me. I'll go easy this time round. This one is have the size. Really am grateful for the feedback!

Summary: Nick's investigation of a case is abruptly interrupted. It may take a little teamwork to solve the case with him out of the picture. Or is he really? Just might he still be able to provide an essential connection to the truth?

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

_Touched By Gravity V_

The line between serenity and chaos could be a fragile one. Gil Grissom had been lingering a few last moments in the shadows examining the thought. The hospital had a backyard so to speak, a miniature city park that bordered the property. The nature there was far from native to the landscape surrounding it. Every tree, every plant had been transplanted there by design and trimmed to perfection, creating a haven where there had only been stale vacant lots before. Grissom cut his stride short, halting his progress along the narrow path. His gaze looked down in front of the tips of his shoes where a puddle had formed in a slight dip in the pathway. His attention had been captured by something there. Gil watched a delicate dark insect struggle to take flight against the weight of its tiny waterlogged wings. He squatted down and placed his hand over the edge of the water there, then submerged just the tips of his fingers and waited patiently. Eventually the little bug had floated close enough to crawl up onto Gil's index finger. He watched it move along until it reached the knuckle between his hand and fingers and then, holding his hand as steady as possible, he moved it from the puddle to the grass at the edge of the path.

"There you go. You just need a little time and a safe place to gather some strength that's all," Grissom offered as the rescued bug scurried off his hand and disappeared into the grass. Obviously not expecting any kind of response, Grissom straightened back up and headed towards the one of emergency room entrances to the hospital.

At the threshold of the ambulance bay parking area serenity departed and chaos slammed back in. The auditory mud made up of multiple voices, sirens, doors opening and closing, and a full spectrum of other noises clung to him even as proceeded through the empty space in the oversized revolving doors. On the other side he was again ambushed with the near dizzying constant motion of a busy emergency room. He studied it for a few seconds, hoping to find a pattern or order by which to make sense out of it all. It would help to reinforce the sense of calm he had relocated in himself while out in the park. He was still empty handed for that additional reassurance when he spotted the physician who had treated Nick making his way past the nurses' station toward the direction of the waiting room.

"Dr Timmons!" Gil called out, moving briskly to catch up with him. The doctor, having developed a keen ability to weed out his own name from all the other spoken words and sounds of the hospital, looked back over his shoulder. The physician slowed his pace, allowing Grissom to close the gap and walk alongside of him.

"I'm sorry. You were here for Mr. Stokes, but I never caught your name," the other man commented as they made their way along the corridor towards the waiting room.

"Grissom. Gil Grissom."

"Nice to meet you Mr. Grissom. You work with Mr. Stokes, is that correct?"

"Yes. He's part of my team. Is there further information on Nick's condition?"

"Have you been able to reach his family yet?" Dr. Timmons asked, visually focusing on what lay down the hallway instead of what was present right beside him. It was a good try, but Gil called him on the reroute around his question.

"No. Not yet. We're working on it. That you would ask that particular question right after I asked if there was an update gives me the impression that there is new information and it holds a level of urgency." After a surprised beat of dead air Dr. Timmons answered.

"You're very observant Mr. Grissom," Timmons replied and finally glanced over to meet Grissom's gaze at him. A faint respectful smile followed.

"It's a trait that runs among CSIs. We're quirky like that. But you haven't completely answered my question yet."

"I'm about to," he replied as they arrived in the waiting area. The others reacted instantaneously as they approached. Brass and Catherine who had been talking quietly by the window moved closer and the others snapped to attention in their chairs.

"I'm going to get right down to it here. I get the impression from Mr. Grissom here that you CSIs don't miss a beat so in the interest of getting to the questions that I'm sure you have I'm going to plow through what we know so far. Feel free to interrupt me." Timmons looked down at the chart, inhaled a deep breath, and dug in.

"Mr. Stokes has too many bruises and cuts to bother to count. This was a very bad fall and from what I can guess from his injuries he most likely did hit that steel pottery kiln that was present at the scene before hitting the ground. Landed on it and rolled off or possibly bounced off it then hit the ground. Or maybe just smacked his head on the edge of it on the way down. Hard to say. Although I'd place my bets on the scenario that he impacted the kiln with his upper back, neck, and head then the floor."

A collective hard swallow from the group filled in when the doctor took his next breath in and out. The feeling that there was something greater, more intense, drenched the man's demeanor. His skill at masking it was strong, well practiced, but easy to unveil to the trained eye. Flipping the page on the chart Timmons resumed.

"He has four broken ribs. Left ankle is broken. Left knee dislocated with a torn ligament and one broken bone in the knee. They've been splinted. An orthopedist will follow that and assess if surgery will be necessary. He got lucky there, doesn't look there was any arterial injury."

"Nerve damage in the knee injury?" Grissom jumped in inquiring.

"Not sure yet." To this Grissom simply nodded his acceptance and let Timmons continue.

"He's still not breathing on his own so he's hooked up to a ventilator." This time it was Brass' voice that cut in, searching for clarification.

"What's the reason for that? Why is he still not breathing on his own? Any way to tell?"

"Most likely his head injury. I'm sorry to report that Mr. Stokes has an epidural hematoma in the temporoparietal region of his brain."

"Uh. And the English translation of that would be please?" Brass pleaded. There was a tiny flicker in his eyes that he had some concept of what this meant, but no true confidence in its accuracy. Timmons looked up from the chart and explained not only to Brass but the entire group, hoping to study each of their faces as he spoke and gauge how well each understood what was happening to their friend.

"Well the brain has a tough outer covering called the dura that is in between the brain itself and the skull bone. It protects the brain and nourishes it with blood and spinal fluid. The blow Mr. Stokes received to his head caused the brain to bounce inside the cavity. And also resulted in a small fracture to the skull itself, on the left side of the back of his head. That traumatic movement caused the blood vessels surrounding the brain and dura to tear. The result is that blood accumulates within the space between the brain covering and the skull. And in reaction the brain swells."

"So he's not breathing because of the swelling?" Brass questioning in hopes of gaining the clearest grasp possible on his friend's condition.

"Because there is only so much space inside the skull when the brain swells it puts pressure on the delicate structures of the brain. They shift to accommodate, moving away from the area that has the swelling. That affects vital functions such speech, consciousness, breathing, eye movement…."

"He did open his eyes when I was with him," Sara commented, holding tightly onto the brief but intense visual connection she had made with Nick.

"Yes. He is having spontaneous eye opening. It's an involuntary action. He doesn't know what's going on around him," Timmons replied, shifting his gaze so he focused on Sara.

"He knew I was there. I could see it. He focused on me."

"I'm sorry. I hope you're right, but medically speaking it's not likely that he saw you were there."

"Well you weren't there. I was. I could tell he recognized me. He even tried to speak to me," Sara came back with confidently. Timmons looked at her empathetically and shaking his head he replied.

"Again probably involuntary movement of the facial muscles. Or even the very beginning of the seizures."

"But it's possible?" Sara proposed.

"Yes, it's possible. But medically speaking not likely."

Sara simply nodded her head in reply, restraining the pull to try to make him understand. Dr. Timmons read it on her face and addressed it in a calm but firm voice.

"I'm not trying to be argumentative. Just trying to give a realistic picture of what is happening to your friend. Right now his coma score is low."

"Low is bad, right?" Greg asked. His voice wavered just a fraction around the last word as if he wanted to confirm he understood, but not really wanting for it to be true.

"It's not what I would like to see, no. Your friend is comatose and we measure at what level of consciousness, or depth of coma you could say, the patient is at by looking for reactions. For example, responding to verbal command. Right now, unfortunately, Mr. Stokes is only having spontaneous eye opening, there's no response to verbal command or physical stimuli. However, there is another possibility there. It may not be the hematoma that is causing his lack of motor response. Mr. Stokes…"

"Nick," Sara insisted upon.

"_Nick_…has swelling in his upper back and neck. The good news here is that we the only damage to vertebrae themselves was to one in his upper back. But it was an incomplete fracture, meaning just the tiniest crack and, therefore, didn't break all the way through so that's very good. However, there is pressure on his spinal cord from the swelling. Most likely caused by bruising from the trauma to that area during the impact of his fall. That compression on the spinal cord could account for the lack of motor response."

"Possible paralysis?" Grissom interjected with in a sterile tone.

"We won't know until the swelling goes down and, possibly even, until he regains consciousness. Right now our top priority is what is happening to his brain. We are going to give it a chance at treating the hematoma conservatively using medications. We'll monitor the intracranial pressure, level of coma, and vitals. But if we don't see significant improvement very quickly or his condition deteriorates we'll have to perform surgery to treat the hematoma. Our top neurologist, Dr. Merrick Zuriff, is handling Mr. Stokes…Nick's…case. If surgery is necessary he will be the one to perform the procedure."

"Will we be able to see him?" Warrick asked faintly.

"Yes. We've moved him to the ICU. But I'd like to limit the number of visitors to no more than two at a time."

"Thank you, doctor," Catherine offered. Dr. Timmons flashed them a comforting smile and left the waiting room. There was less than a half minute of thought before Grissom turned to the entire group and spoke. His words to them came out a little more demanding than he had intended, but it was due to determination not harshness.

"Alright. We need to regroup and work as a team. We'll take turns being here at the hospital. The rest of us should get some sleep. We're all working on fumes. We're no use to Nick or the lab, for that matter, if we're all exhausted. So we'll rotate between being here, home, and the lab."

"I'm not going anywhere," Warrick stated, crossing his arms over his chest. His solid expression was boiling with attitude, challenging anyone to tell him different.

"Okay, you're up first Warrick. Greg, why don't you stay with him. Who wants to replace them?"

"I doubt I'll be able to sleep so I'd rather be awake here than at home. I just need to check in with Lindsey," Catherine responded.

"Sara can come back when you do. Then Brass and I can replace you two. Everyone make sure your phones are turned on."

The group seemed to dissolve away in different directions inside a single breath. There had been a strong command in Grissom's voice that on some level had been needed by each of them individually for varying reasons. Being instructed a task, or even a simple structure on how to proceed, seemed to break the hold of shocked stupor they had all been stumbling around in. As Warrick and Greg headed off to go upstairs to the intensive care unit Grissom called after them. Only Greg turned though. Warrick appeared too mentally lost to have heard so Grissom gave the instructions to the younger of the two.

"Any news at all, you call me right away. I'll pass it along to the others."

"Will do," Greg replied then about faced, rushing to catch up with the Warrick at the elevator. Spotting Dr. Timmons standing at the nurses' station making notations on another chart Gil took the opportunity to speak with him privately for a moment to see if he couldn't get a bit more detailed information about Nick's injuries from the physician. Sara passed them by on her way out of the emergency room, but didn't stop to be part of their conversation. She could tell their discussion was drowning in medical terminology and that wasn't of interest to her right then. Medical terminology wouldn't make their failure to protect Nick undone. On the opposite side of the huge central desk she stopped, weighing her options, stay or go home and try to sleep. Brass' appearance down the hallway, a new coffee in hand, sparked a third option. Abandoning the first two choices she leaned against the desk and waited until the detective was within ear shot.

"Hey Brass," Sara said, drawing his attention upward from what must have been a very hypnotizing cup of coffee.

"Yeah Sara. What's up?" he greeted her with a sudden brightness.

"You have a car here, right?"

"Yeah. I came with Gil, but Catherine is going to drop him back at the lab. Why?" he replied and nodded in the positive.

"Can I borrow you?"

"Borrow me? I'm flattered, but I pride myself on being less gullible than your average joe so my answer is…that depends. What for?"

"I need a ride back out to the Marshall crime scene. I want to get Nick's notes and any evidence he collected out of his Tahoe."

"Sure. I can give you a ride out there. Also I spoke with Nick this afternoon and gave him some additional info I dug up. I can fill you in on the way if you like."

"That would be good."

"Are you sure you don't want to go home and get some sleep? Amlyn Marshall isn't going anywhere."

"I'm not all that great at the waiting game. I can't just sit here, doing nothing, while Nick fights for his life. And I know I couldn't sleep at home. I was supposed to be helping him with that case but haven't lifted a finger yet. Time to make up for it."

"The crime scene it is then. If we can't fight for Nick we can fight for Amlyn Marshall, right?"

"Exactly. I like the way you think Brass."

"Why thank you. I'm so used to being told, especially by suspects, that I don't know what the hell I'm talking about, that it's nice to hear once in a while."

"Glad I could help," Sara responded, resulting in a faint smile from Brass.

"Shall we go catch a killer?"

"Lead the way," Sara responded. She followed him towards the exit and only once hesitated briefly just inside the doorway, a piece of her feeling like she was abandoning Nick. She managed to convince herself to keep going though, thinking that maybe right then it was the only thing within her power she could do for him. What had happened to Nick was an accident, but what happened to Amlyn wasn't. If Nick hadn't been chasing her murderer, he never would have fallen through that floor. It was time to find who was responsible.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Gil removed his glasses and used the fingertips of his right hand to deeply massage the weary spot where they had been rested on his nose. A soft knock on the doorframe of his office drew him to drop his hand away from his face and raise his attention upward. It didn't surprise him that he had only arrived moments before and someone was already on his doorstep, most likely with more questions than he cared to answer.

"Come in!" he called out, giving in to the inevitable.

"I heard. How is he?" Doc Robbins asked, entering slowly. Letting out a breath Grissom leaned back in the chair and tossed his glasses in his left hand onto the thick stack of papers that had taken up permanent residence on his desk.

"Epidural hematoma," he stated as if it told the entire story.

"Not so good then. Level of consciousness?" Doc inquired, closing the door and blocking out the murmur of sounds from the rest of the lab.

"Comatose. Low score. He fell through a ceiling onto a stainless steel pottery kiln, his head and back taking the brunt of the impact, then fell to the floor. And was subsequently buried in debris."

"A fall like that. Low coma score. Pretty much non responsive then?"

"Yeah."

"What's the rest?"

"I didn't realize I was that transparent?" Gil responded with a hint of annoyance at himself lacing the background of it.

"Not usually. But right now I think you're too drained to hold the walls up. The fact that there is more to tell is written in your body language," Robbins answered and took a seat in the chair in front of the desk.

"I was hoping no one had taken notice."

"If you _weren't_ hoping to be discreet about it _then_ I think I'd be truly concerned."

"Have I become that predictable? Or am I wearing a sign on my forehead that I'm not aware of?"

"Everything is relative Gil. What's normal for one is not necessarily normal for another. For you wanting to stay emotional discreet is normal."

"Point taken."

"So?" Robbins prompted when nothing more came from the man seated across from him.

"So what?"

"Were you going to tell me the rest? Or are we going to sit here and continue to perform an autopsy on your psyche?"

"Oh right. The highlights? Bruising and swelling around T3 and T4 vertebrae, resulting from a fissure fracture of T4. As well as mildly swelling around the lower thoracic T11 and T12. No fractures there. No motor responses. Four broken ribs. Broken ankle. Dislocated knee with a torn ligament and one broken bone. He's on a ventilator. Elevated blood pressureBradycardia, heart rate hovering in the lower fifties. Series of grand mal seizures…or is it tonic clonic the term they are using these days? I lose track."

"Either is acknowledged really."

"The seizures are now under control with meds."

"Good. Well between the hematoma and the compression of the spinal cord around the very upper back and the lower lumbar region I'm not surprised there's no motor response to painful stimuli or verbal command. Between those two areas of the spinal cord that would potentially stall any messages getting to any of his limbs and, for that matter, to his torso or lower body. The big question comes with the potential for brain damage or paralysis. Or even possibly…both."

"Yeah. That's if he survives."

"Epidural hematoma is certainly survivable Gil."

"I know. Mortality rate is around twenty percent. But at what cost?"

"I'm assuming your referring to the very valid possibility that if he does survive he might not be the same Nick."

"That would be the road I was going down, yes."

"A different life, whether it's mentally or physically altered, is better than no life, right?"

"That's a matter of opinion. Don't get me wrong Doc. I hope with everything that medicine can do these days he lives, but…" Grissom began before his intellect caught up to his voice and he forcibly reigned his thoughts in. After only a beat Robbins finished for him, robbing him of any chance of finding a new acceptable ending to his own sentence.

"But you're concerned that even if you don't lose him to death, you might lose him anyway."

A defeated silence gripped the air in the office. Both men knew the answer, but the one who needed to verbalize it simply couldn't let the emotion of the answer escape the confines of his body. It went understood but unspoken. It was an incredibly selfish line of thought, to have it be so important that if Nick survived it needed to be the old Nick and not a forever changed one.

"David and I are wrapping up things here. We'll be over at the hospital in a little while," Robbins commented, standing to leave the office. Grissom didn't offer anything in the way of an immediate response so Robbins turned and began to leave. He had only made it to the doorway when Gil's voice halted him.

"Hey Doc?"

"Yes Gil?"

"We never had this little session."

"If that's your unique, albeit strange, way of saying 'thank you' then…you're welcome."

"Yes, it is."

Once again Robbins turned to leave. This time it was his own final thought that he offered the other man that stopped his progress.

"Oh and Gil."

"Yeah."

"Hiding here at the lab isn't going to fool anyone, even yourself. Physical distance can't equate emotional distance. No matter how diligent you are in the effort."

"I'll take that into consideration. Thank you _Dr. Phil_."

"I'll have my secretary send you the bill."

"You have a secretary?"

"David. While technically not his job title, he's a proficient typist and has a great rapport with office equipment."

"Why am I suddenly getting the idea a lot of those reports I see out of your office weren't typed up by your hands."

"Management, Gil, is all about delegating."

"Compliment David on his administrative abilities would you?"

"Sure. And we'll see you down at the hospital in a few?"

"Yes. I just have one last thing I need to do first."

Robbins nodded his understanding and departed the office, gently clicking the door closed behind him. Slightly recharged Gil scooped up his glasses from atop the mountain of paperwork and turned to his computer. The words, _twenty percent mortality rate_, resonated inside his thoughts. Gil held out hope that a little research would cleanse away that statistic from his mind.

"_Merrick Zuriff, neurologist_," his fingers typed into the search field in the database of record information on physician's he had pulled up. He needed to know whose hands the life of one of his team might very possibly rest in.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

"Hi Warrick," Sara said quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder from behind. It pulled him back from the foggy reflective mental wilderness that Warrick had been wandering through.

"Where's Greg?" she asked.

"He went to grab a bite to eat."

"Why don't you go join him. I'll take over."

"No. No. I'm alright."

"_Warrick_," Sara replied in a tone that made it sound like he must, on at least some remote level, see the absurdity of his own plan to never leave the chair at his friend's bedside.

"Fine. But I'm just going to grab some coffee and I'm come straight back so don't you get comfortable," he replied after a glance at her then to Nick and back.

"Up!" Sara insisted, firm but low in volume. Reluctantly, Warrick got to his feet and stepped aside.

"Ha! Mine now," Sara announced as she plopped down into the chair.

"Girl, when I get back your skinny butt better fly outta my chair," came as Warrick's final word on the matter. Sara let herself smile softly as he disappeared out into the hallway. A small spark of electricity lingered in the air. Warrick must have found something that renewed him while he sat with Nick. He had been intensely quiet and noticeably unanimated while they had been in the waiting room and it was hopeful to see a little fire back in him. Maybe he had simply needed a few moments alone at his friend's side, a moment to see for himself that Nick was still there like she had had earlier awaiting the ambulance.

Sara pushed herself up a tad straighter in the chair. Still not particularly comfortable she fidgeted from side to side then shifted a little further back. Still unrewarded, Sara stood up, glared accusingly at the chair, then glanced around and upon finding no other better replacement glared back at the chair.

"Okay, yeah, Nick you're gonna need to wake up soon because _this chair_…it isn't working for me," she commented aloud, accompanying it with a teasing tone for him, and then dragged the offending piece of furniture by its arm so its side was lined up with the edge of the bed. As if somehow magically by moving the chair closer to the bed it would suddenly be more comfortable to sit in, she slowly and gently sat back down. At least now with the arm of the chair parallel and right up against the side of the bed she could rest her elbow on the soft surface instead of the wooden frame of the chair.

Also she was facing the top of the bed which meant just looking straight ahead her gaze landed upon Nick's face. She only reviewed his current state briefly, taking note of the major points; the numerous intravenous lines leading away from him, the automated blood pressure cuff on his right arm, the pulse-oxy clip on his finger, and a slightly different neck brace than the one he had been wearing before. The most noticeable inanimate object was the one that made her look away. Somehow the hand held air bag, pushing air into Nick's lungs, had been less invasive than the ventilator that now automatically performed that task. Turning her attention to the item she held in her hand was less torturous than continuing to look at all the equipment, objectively working to keep him alive.

Not to mention if she looked any longer she would be forced to really see him, Nick, and not just his surroundings. Sara placed the overstuffed case folder that she had brought back with her on her lap. Without looking back at him she rested the fingertips of her left hand on his wrist, letting the sensation of his warm skin under her own remind her that he was still there with her.

"Alright, let's get down to business shall we? What do we know?" she inquired in a quiet voice and opened the cover of the file folder.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

"So how exactly are we going to get him leave?" Catherine pondered out loud as she watched Warrick pouring excessive amounts of sugar into his next cup of coffee.

"I could drug his coffee and then wheel him out of here on a stretcher. Never know what hit him and he'd be completely under my control," Greg replied and completed the ending with an maniacal laugh. Catherine looked over at him. Her expression stated she often wondered about his mental state, but her words we more diplomatic.

"That's one plan I guess," she commented.

"_Or_ we could lure him out of here," came the next suggestion

"How are we gonna do that?"

"I'm still working on that part," Greg replied eager and confident in his ability to devise a full proof plan.

"You go right on there with your thinking, okay Greg?" Catherine replied, rising and heading over to embark on the daunting mission of convincing Warrick Brown to go home and sleep for a while.

"I'm on it!" Greg called after her.

"Glad to hear it!" she called back sarcastically.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Sara blinked her eyes against the intense tangerine rays of sunlight shining through the window pane. The sun was right at the horizon, but she suddenly couldn't recall if it was teetering on rising or setting. There was warmth hitting her skin from the glow which made her think afternoon sun, but analyzing the possibilities for a moment she decided it was the sunrise since last she remembered it was night. A sudden noise from right behind her jerked her guard up and she spun around, away from the window sill, just as a frustrated voice cursed softly.

"Dammit!"

Sara's alarmed state instantly vanished and was replaced with confusion. Not two feet in front of her stood Nick, dressed in jeans, a soft brown t-shirt, and his CSI vest. Leaned over a stack of papers on the desk there, he was frantically trying to mop up a pool of pale pink liquid. Using a sheet of paper that looked like it had come from his clipboard he wasn't having much such success. To the right of the puddle there was a small glass bottle, three quarters empty and missing its lid. To the left of the puddle was a notebook and some assorted papers on the desk. Nick's clipboard sat on the outer edge. Whatever had been in the bottle had spilled on both things.

"Nice going Stokes," he commented, squatting beside the desk and sifting through the contents of his field kit, searching for something to use to clean up the mess he had created. He gave up, blowing out a huge breath then angrily ripped off both of his gloves, which were tainted pink. He roughly stuffed the wet gloves in a plastic bag then just stayed squatted there by the desk for a few seconds, seemingly to collect himself.

"Alright, back to work," Nick said, refocused, and snapped on a fresh pair of gloves. He put his palms on the tops of his thighs to propel himself upward, but never completed the action. Sara watched as instead his attention was caught by something and he tucked his head so it cleared the underside of the desk, leaned slightly to the right, and reached for an object on the floor in the corner. Retrieving it he emerged back out from under the desk and stood up. The color picture on the paper in his right hand was crumpled into a tight ball. There was a flash of something, something hopeful, in his eyes as he delicately unfolded and examined it.

"Well isn't that interesting. She…" he stated, but Sara never heard the rest because the sensation of a hand of her shoulder, shaking her, stole her away from his voice.

"Sara. Sara, honey, wake up. You need to get up, and let them in," a female's voice encouraged. Sara twisted her head to the left and looked up to find Catherine leaning over her. For a heartbeat she only squinted at Catherine, disoriented and speechless.

"Sara, you have to get up!' the other woman insisted once more before all the other sounds in the room finally were absorbed by her ears. The one that had caused Catherine's prompting was harsh and heartbreaking. Sara sprang up out of the chair once it registering that the sound was an alarm on one of the pieces of monitoring equipment hooked up to Nick.

"What? What's wrong!" she pleaded, her voice arriving in the air louder than planned.

"It's his blood pressure. They're going to take care of him, but we need to get out of the way. They said they can help lower it, but they need us to clear the bed." Sara let Catherine tow her by a hand on her upper arm to the edge of the room. They watched as a collection of nurses and a doctor they didn't recognize assessed and reacted to Nick's distress. Sara let her gaze drift down from Nick, hoping not looking would stop the tears threatening to arrive. Her eyes fixed on the bland floor she noticed Amlyn Marshall's case folder and its contents strewn chaotically all over the floor. It must have fallen from her lap when she jumped up from the chair. One sheet in particular, that she didn't recognize as having come to yet in the stack made her next exhale catch in her throat. There near the right leg of the chair was a hand drawn diagram of a room with a desk and a window in the southwest corner.

And on the edge of it was a pale pink stain where something had spilled on the paper.

"I was there with him," she whispered.

_To Be Continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

Author: Signs Of Sun

Series Title: Touched By Gravity

Genre: General/Angst (Series)

Characters: Nick and Sara. Whole team although light on Greg.

Spoilers: None for future episodes, but a few references to past seasons.

**Notes: You are all very generous with your reviews and I love you for it. Thanks so much! _You are awesome_.**

Summary: Nicks investigation of a case is abruptly interrupted. It may take a little teamwork to solve the case with him out of the picture. Or is he really? Just might he still be able to provide an essential connection to the truth?

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

_Touched By Gravity VI_

Catherine watched the tepid peaceful glow of the sunrise grow against Sara's features. They'd been standing at the window just down the hall from Nick's room for a few moments, but no spoken words had passed between them yet. Sara's gaze was set out through the glass to the city drenched in the early morning light and Catherine was pulled to study her, intently searching for the secret she seemed to be withholding.

"Anything you want to talk about?" Catherine inquired softly. Her well of patience had dried up rapidly. She blamed exhaustion for that. There was something tangled up in Sara's mind creating a half intellectually analytical, half heart full of hope expression on her face.

"It's just weird ya know," the other woman commented, but not turning away from the window.

"There's a lot of weird stuff out there Sara. Any chance you can be a little more specific?"

"You'll think I'm crazy."

"Who isn't?" Catherine responded seriously and leaned back against the wall to the left of the window where Sara stood. Catherine's eyes wandered her surroundings from the room numbers to the hospital staff purposefully coming and going from each room in a blur of blue, purple, and white attire to the muted green hue, a gentle sage, that had been chosen for the walls. Finally she tilted her head down a little and studied the contrast between her black shoes and the French vanilla color that saturated the floor. Must have be the exhaustion once again, but a wave of dizzying scenery overload seemed to have crashed into her senses.

"I was there with him," Sara stated so quietly it was almost less than a whisper. Catherine caught it though in her apparent state of hypersensitivity.

"Yep, you were and we're all grateful you were. If you hadn't of found him when you did I don't…"

"That's not what I meant Catherine," Sara snapped.

"Then what? Talk to me Sara."

"I mean I was there with him when he processed the Amlyn Marshall crime scene. Like I was observing or something."

"Just now?"

"Yeah."

"Sara you fell asleep and dreamt you were there."

"I told you it sounded crazy, but I was with him in that house. I know it doesn't make any sense. I mean I know Nick is lying in a hospital bed, but that paper…that paper was there."

"Sara, what the hell are you tal…?"

"When I jumped out of the chair the folder with all the case information spilled all over the floor."

"Yeah I saw that."

"One of the papers, a diagram of one of the rooms in the Marshall house was there. It had a pink stain on it."

"You've lost me."

"When I was…there with Nick he had spilled something, something pink. It got on the papers on his clipboard. That's how the stain got on the paper. I saw it happen."

"Or because that's what your mind filled in the blanks with."

"It doesn't feel that way."

"He's in a coma Sara. His brain is swelling. He can't even breath on his own. It kills me to say it, but he's not there. He's can't be communicating with you or whatever you think it is that happened."

"Why what's your take?" Sara probed for with just the slightest bite bordering the question.

"I think that you were reading through the case file, fell asleep, and your mind continued to think about it. Even if you don't remember seeing the stain before you fell asleep you must have caught a glimpse of it somewhere along the line, flipping through the file or something. Your brain simply came up with a way to account for it. It's Nick's case so it's only natural he would be in those thoughts."

"It's just it was so vivid. So tangible."

"Oh Sara. I know it felt real but it was just a dream. I wish it was more. I really do."

"I know it isn't logical. All the evidence says that you're right. But my gut tells me I am."

"Your mind was just working through the case."

"I'm losin' it, aren't I?"

"Not anymore than the rest of us. Sara, you're exhausted. Two hours of sleep and that little nap you took just now, if you'd even call it a nap, isn't going to cut it. You need more sleep."

"Maybe you're right. It was just a dream. Just my mind working overtime. Apparently I can't stop working even when I'm asleep huh?"

"Guess not. I know have some pretty wild vivid dreams when I'm completely wiped out."

"Wild huh?" Sara commented, raising an eyebrow at Catherine.

"Wild as in crazy not wild as in…well…Tarzan, Jane wild."

"Sure Catherine."

Catherine opened her mouth to say something to regain less embarrassing ground, but her voice never made it out of her throat.

"Ms. Sidle? Ms. Willows? Correct?"

"That would be us, yes," Sara answered and turned from the light of the window to face the short woman in scrubs that had just arrived where they stood halfway down the corridor.

"I'm Dr. Lavene. I've been working with Dr. Timmons and Dr. Zuriff on Mr. Stokes' case."

"How is he?"

"Well the alarm that went off was his blood pressure monitor. Mr. Stokes' blood pressure had gotten so elevated that it was in the danger zone. We have managed to lower it. His neurologist, Dr. Zuriff, is with him now and will be out to let you know more," Dr. Lavene stated. The petite woman with light brown hair had an eternally optimistic aura surrounding her. Both Sara and Catherine had noted the beginnings of a sappy encouraging smile teasing her lips as she had spoken about Nick. Somehow it struck them as a little too relaxed in relation to the circumstances.

"Did you have any further questions or concerns for me?" the doctor asked when both Catherine and Sara seemed content to just stand and stare at her with an acute squint.

"Uh, no. We appreciate you coming out and letting us know," Catherine responded. It wasn't that she didn't have more question but more that she preferred Dr. Timmons friendly understanding to Dr Lavene's overly hopeful encouragement. At least Timmons didn't skim details or sugar coat things.

"Okay, please do let me know if there is anything I can clarify or answer for you. I'll be more than happy to do the best I can to help."

"We can see that," Sara replied with an embedded unique sarcasm that Catherine caught, but the other woman did not.

"Remember we got the blood pressure under control and that's wonderful news."

"Blood pressure lowered so we're happy campers. Got it!" Catherine returned this time. Dr. Lavene gifted them with a gigantic smile and then headed back off, almost bouncing on her toes down the hallway. On her way she nodded to a doctor coming from the opposite direction. The silent communication seemed to let him know she had spoken with the two women that now awaited his arrival.

"Dr. Zuriff I presume," Catherine whispered to Sara as they watched him calmly make his way towards them. His stride held an evenly paced but intense rhythm to it. The subtle confidence it reflected was somehow comforting. Dr. Merrick Zuriff was also very easy on the eyes. At around six feet three, lightly tanned, and athletically built, by the looks of it solidly as cement, he would have been pegged more as a career lifeguard than a neurosurgeon by most people.

"Might want to close your mouth before he gets here Catherine. You wouldn't want to drool on him. Not really attractive," Sara teased. Catherine, her gaze still transfixed down the hallway, lightly smacked Sara's arm instructing her to knock it off.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Zuriff," the man offered in a steady voice. The tone was strong, but his volume surprisingly subdued.

"Hello. I'm Catherine Willows."

"Nice to meet you Ms. Willows."

"Catherine."

"Okay, Catherine it is."

Catherine was just about to open her mouth to respond with something she hadn't come up with yet when Sara's voice took over.

"Sara Sidle."

"Good to meet you. Is it Ms. Sidle or Sara?"

"Let's stick with Ms. Sidle for now."

"Okay," Dr. Zuriff stated, flashing a brief bright smile before he continued.

"As I'm sure you are aware we have chosen the option of treating…" he began, but abruptly stopped a beat later with his attention drawn over Sara's left shoulder. Both women followed after his gaze to see Grissom just arriving to join the group.

"Am I late?" he asked, adding a bit of sarcasm to it in response to everyone suddenly turning to stare at him as he made his way along the hallway.

"You, Gil? Late?" Catherine replied with a smirk.

"At least I'm consistent," Grissom commented and then turned his focus to the doctor.

"Gil Grissom," he introduced himself and held out his hand to the other man. Both Sara and Catherine immediately noticed how Grissom's tone and body language was less reserved than normal when meeting new people as if he had known Zuriff for a long time.

"Dr. Merrick Zuriff," he responded in kind, accepting Grissom's hand in a brief handshake. Catherine was tempted to ask if the two had met before. Grissom's usual first introductions method of operation was less animated, more stiff and untelling. But before she could act on the thought Grissom's voice arrived first into the open air.

"Please, continue with what you were saying Dr. Zuriff," Gil encouraged.

"Yes, as I was saying, I'm sure you are aware we had chosen the option of treating Mr. Stokes' epidural hematoma conservatively. Which means we were using medications, including osmotic diuretics, to hopeful reduce it effectively. I have periodically reevaluated his condition as well as performing another CT scan a little while ago. The last evaluation of his condition being just now when his blood pressure became so high it triggered the alarm on the monitor. It's unfortunate, but I'm not seeing the improvement I would want at this point."

"What were you looking for? Specifically?" Grissom inquired.

"First, the fact that Nick's blood pressure hasn't leveled out and, preferably, dropped. Also he is no longer having spontaneous eye opening which most likely indicates a deeper level of coma. His ICP, intracranial pressure, hasn't significantly changed. The diuretics are not producing the output of fluid I would like to see. Those indications are the most glaring points."

"So what now?" Catherine asked, her voice heavy with the gravity of the news.

"It is my professional opinion that the risks of continuing with this course of treatment now outweigh any ultimate benefits of taking this route. His condition is possibly on the brink of deteriorating very quickly. So the best option now is surgery to remove the clot."

Dr. Zuriff could easily see that the three people in front of him had an idea of what the surgery entailed; shaving an area of the scalp, making an incision then creating a small hole in the skull and removing the clot. There was a thoughtful span of seconds while the information was processed internally by Catherine, Sara, and Grissom. Sara's voice was the one to break into the empty air.

"The risks?" she asked calmly.

"With any surgery, of course, there is the risk of infection or creating additional bleeding. With a procedure such as this there are risks that include possible damage to brain tissue or blood vessels. And with the combination of the effects of the hematoma itself and the surgery there is some risk of nerve damage or loss of mental functions."

"But those are low, correct?" Grissom asked, clearly confident in a positive response.

"Every condition is different. Nick has things that make some of the risks more of significant concern and then there are aspects that reduce the chances of some of the other risks. We take all of that into careful consideration. It's a balancing act in a way. In terms of the surgery I'd say my greatest concern is additional bleeding and risk of nerve or muscle damage."

"We appreciate your honesty Doctor. I can see Nick is in extremely competent hands," Grissom stated, with a thick air of approval in his voice. Both Catherine's and Sara's gaze shot to him then to each other. Most surprising was the presence of the approving inflection in Grissom's voice. It wasn't something handed out freely by Gil Grissom and hearing it pass over his lips brought mixed emotions. First, was a fragile thread of security. Somehow if Gil Grissom was openly confident with Dr Zuriff's skill it held weight. But, secondly, came the more unsettling, even angering, sense that maybe it was Gil's detachment that had let it slip out. Where Nick was concerned all too often Grissom chose distance over immersion into the situation. Perhaps the distance or possibly indifference allowed Grissom to just not be rattled in the least by placing Nick's life in this stranger's hands. Sara had chosen to cling to the anger aspect more tightly than the other possibility. She only let her eyes elude to it though, opting not to verbalize it. Catherine wanted to embrace the feeling of security. But her mind finally comprised and placed her bets on that Grissom's ever present but hidden protectiveness of Nick always accounted for his detachment. If he distanced himself then it is more difficult to get hurt, at least in the world of Gil Grissom.

"Catherine, did you have anything further to ask?" Grissom's voice penetrated the thoughtful fog she had wandered off into. Catherine glanced at the two men then to Sara. All three were looking at her, apparently awaiting an answer to a question she hadn't even heard the first time around.

"Uh no. I think that's I'm all set for now."

"Well then I am going to go prepare for the procedure. Just one last question. It was my understanding that there have been attempts to reach Mr. Stokes parents in Texas, but that no one has gotten a hold of them as of yet?" Zuriff asked and scanned their expressions, choosing Grissom's to settle upon. Almost instantly Gil tackled the question.

"As of a few hours ago, no, not at home. But their offices are opening up about now and I'm sure we can reach them there."

"Are any of you aware if Mr. Stokes has any specific wishes in terms of medical efforts to be used in the event of cardiac arrest."

"Nothing legally binding," Grissom replied matter of factly. His voice was followed by Catherine's.

"We're all a hundred percent certain that Nick would want you to make every effort possible."

"Understood," Dr. Zuriff stated firmly and after a beat of no one offering anything additional he left them, moving along the hallway at the same strong steady pace he had approached them with.

Grissom blew out a weighted breath. His attempt to do it without it being noticeable failed and Sara and Catherine drew their focus to him. Out of reflex to avoid the inevitable question of whether or not he was alright Gil pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

"I have to make a few calls," he informed them and in a mere blink of the eye was off down the corridor, dialing his phone.

"Typical," Catherine commented and glanced at Sara who bobbed her head in agreement.

"He always leaves it to me to go find everybody and fill them in," the older woman continued. Sara manufactured an understanding grin at its truth then finally spoke.

"Speaking of finding people where did Warrick disappear to?"

"Well I gave it my best shot to try and convince him to go home and get some sleep."

"Sounds like you failed at that endeavor."

"Miserably. But Greg was determinedly working on a _plan_ when I left them while they were getting coffee. Something about drugging Warrick or some other potentially illegal method of getting him outside the hospital. This is Greg so I'm not sure I want to be in on the details. Looks like it worked though, whatever it was. Haven't seen either one since."

"So which one of us gets to be the bad guy and call him and wake him up?"

"I was already the bad guy pushing him to leave. Your turn."

"Oh thanks."

"Anytime," Catherine responded adding a smirk. Sara pulled her cell from the pocket of the thin denim jacket she wore and flipped it open.

"I'm going to grab some coffee. I could use an entire pot about now," Catherine whispered as Sara brought up Warrick's number on the display on her phone. Before hitting the button to call the number Sara looked up and nodded half heartedly. Catherine disappeared around the corner and Sara turned to look out over the city as the sun melted away any lingering traces of the night. She blew out a heavy breath and hit the button then put the phone to her ear. Inside the brief moment of dead air before the first ring her attention was drawn back to the hallway by the sudden rise in the number of voices and sounds of activity down the hall a bit. Her gaze found a collection of men and women in assorted hospital staff attire emerging from Nick's room out into the hallway.

"Brown," came the voice in her right ear. Sara didn't remember it having rung, but maybe she had missed it with the distraction. But she had only been pulled part way back from being lost in the image at the other end of the corridor. The image of the doctors and nurses expertly navigating the bed in which Nick lay out of the room and into the hallway.

"Hello? Hello?" Warrick asked. This time his voice was slightly more urgent and in need of a response. But Sara was frozen. At that instant the dense grouping of bodies surrounding the hospital bed had cleared slightly and Sara could finally see Nick's face completely.

"Sara? Sara, are you there? Are you okay?" Warrick's urging came again, even more desperation inside his tone. He must have finally checked the caller id on his phone. With a delay Sara realized she had let out the tiniest of sounds, a sound somewhere between a forced exhale and a sob. Warrick must have heard it.

As Sara looked at Nick, his eyes closed, his eyelids several shades darker than normal, his usually softly amiable features altered by ugly bruising and swelling she had realized something.

There was a strong chance it would be the last time she might see him alive.

This might very well be the final heartbreaking image imprinted on her mind of her friend.

It wouldn't be the image of that boyish grin of his that spread over his face when he had been first to discover something huge at crime scene. It wouldn't be that charming Texan smile he brought out from the hiding place he tucked it away in until an occasion arose for it. It wouldn't be that delicate smile of silent understanding he had offered her in the moments she had needed the smile of a non judgmental friend the most.

It wouldn't be those beautiful mental snapshots of him that would fade out the last page of album of memories of Nick. Instead it would be a more brutal one. One missing that heart enslaving smile.

"Sara tell me what is wrong!" Warrick demanded of her finally.

"I'm sorry. I was just distracted there for a minute."

"No apology needed. Just tell me what's up."

"It's Nick. They're taking him into surgery. They said they didn't feel it was worth the risks to wait on the medications. They are going to remove the clot surgically."

"They are taking him in now?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you guys call me sooner?"

"We just found out Warrick."

"Yeah. Yeah. Sorry. I'm on my way now."

The line went to dead air before Sara could say any words of agreement. She returned the phone to its place in her jacket and ground her teeth a little bit in thought. She could go join the others and sit uselessly or she could see what else Amlyn Marshall's case file held. The decision was easily made. Sara's body was immediately in motion towards Nick's now empty room in search of the photos and notes that hopefully could lead her down the path that Nick had already traveled before her.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Warrick cut the engine and relaxed back against the seat. He released his seatbelt lethargically then seized the moment to run his palms down over his face. He had already been two blocks away from his house by the time the idea occurred to him that maybe he should have at least splashed some cold water on his face to gain some alertness. When he had completed the motion and had dropped his hands back into his lap, the thought impacted his heart that he could wash away some of the physical damage like sleepiness still clinging to him, but it couldn't wipe away the knot of fear tied so tightly inside him. Warrick was by no means a doctor but he knew enough about Nick's injuries to know that his life still hung in midair. Nick could float indefinitely unresponsive. He could come out through the cloudiness. Or he could take a sudden dive and fall, crushing the life out of him. Warrick had been praying for the second, uncertain how he felt about the first, and couldn't even begin to control the spread of dread that the last possibility set in motion. The quick strong knock on the window to the left of his head prompted him to open his eyes, which he hadn't even realized he had let slide shut.

Seeing Doc Robbins and David standing outside the drivers' side of his car he hit the button to lower the window.

"Hey!" he greeted them, ending up surprised at how awake he sounded.

"Please tell me you didn't sit here and sleep in your car?" Robbins inquired.

"No, man. I promise I went home and got some crash time. I'm just coming back now because…have you guys heard?"

"Heard what?" David asked concerned.

"They had to take Nick into surgery to treat the hematoma."

"The medication wasn't effective? Or was there another development?"

"I don't know the details. Sara called to let me know."

"We should probably go in then and see if there's any additional information," Robbins suggested.

"Yeah. Yeah," Warrick replied and after rolling up the window he exited the car and trudged after the pair across the parking lot and into the hospital. Several mini conversations passed between Doc and David, but Warrick didn't seem able to focus enough to follow them from beginning to end. He broke into their latest one with a question.

"That kind of surgery can be pretty lengthy, right?" he inquired while hitting the button for the elevator. He had directed the question at Doc for the most part but would really have accepted an answer from either.

"In most cases, yes," Robbins replied as their elevator arrived. The three were silent for a moment while they stepped in and David selected the number 4 from the choices of floors. The passing curiosity of how David had known what floor to pick came and went through Warrick's mind, but he didn't choose to address it. Instead he continued on his original course.

"And Nick's health before the …before this…could play into how things go from here?"

"The fact that Nick was in good health, physically fit, and not too young or too old when was injured certainly could help him through this I believe."

"Good. Good," Warrick responded quietly as the elevator ceased its upward movement and a beat later the doors slid open. David stepped out first and started down the hallway towards the private waiting room Dr. Timmons had acquired for the CSIs. David glanced back once over his left shoulder. Seeing that Brown and Robbins had left the elevator, but were stalled not two feet outside of it, he continued along without them.

"Be honest with me, Doc. Does Nick have a shot?"

"I'm not a neurosurgeon Warrick."

"C'mon Doc. I trust your opinion."

"All I know medically is what I've already told you. That the fact he was in excellent health before the accident will be a positive contribution. What I know personally is that Nick won't give up without putting up a fight with everything he's got."

At this Warrick grinned a grin that captured his entire expression.

"What is it?" Doc asked, unable to resist a small smile of his own. Warrick's had been instantly contagious.

"You've never played basketball with the man. Even when he's losing, and I mean _seriously_ losing, he doesn't give."

"Sounds like he'll do fine holdin' his own then," Robbins commented and the pair were both back in motion again, progressing along the hallway silently to the waiting room. When they rounded the corner they saw David, coffee cup now in hand, open the door to the small waiting room. This revealed its other occupants as Grissom and Catherine.

"So do you think that Amlyn Marshall was killed over her baby," Catherine was suggesting in response to something Grissom had said while Warrick and Robbins were still just out of earshot. Whatever Grissom's words had been Warrick and Robbins only saw them as his lips moving with no sound. As soon as they made it through the doorway Warrick acquired the first empty chair to collapse into, but the other man remained standing for a moment.

"There's one problem with that theory," Doc Robbins voice interjected.

"Oh yeah, what's that?" Catherine asked, very curious if Robbins had found additional medical information that could be useful.

"Well, your theory involves Amlyn Marshall," the medical examiner responded. Grissom fielded the return.

"Logic leads us down that path. Our DB, Amlyn Marshall, is the center of our investigation."

"That would be all well and good if your DB were Amlyn Marshall, but she's not. Amlyn Marshall that is," Robbins stated, taking a seat across from where Grissom and Catherine sat.

"Amlyn Marshall is not our DB?" Catherine jumped in with.

"Sorry no."

"Based on what?" Grissom asked and shifted to a straighter posture showing his attention had been gained.

"Mrs. Marshall and Amlyn's fingerprints." That was Doc's simple answer at first, but the silent intense stares from both the CSIs seated across from him drew further explanation.

"Brass had gotten a hold of Amlyn's mother, Camille Marshall, who flew back from Chicago this afternoon. She came to see Amlyn and give the id. Well, according to Mrs. Marshall the girl in the morgue is not her daughter and has no idea who our DB is."

"Is it possible that it was some type of denial at seeing her daughter deceased?" Grissom proposed. Everyone was surprised when it was David and not Robbins that responded next.

"Nope. Fingerprints confirm it. Before Nick left the lab and went out to the crime scene he came by. Doc had stepped out for a few minutes. Nick asked me if it was possible to put a priority on retrieving and confirming the DB's prints as Amlyn's. He didn't say straight out that he thought they wouldn't match, but he gave the impression that he felt something was off. So I got the fingerprints and went to have them run against the prints Amlyn's high school had taken. They didn't match. Nor did they match anyone on file."

"So this girl was living in the Marshall house but Mrs. Marshall has no idea who she is. How was she identified as Amlyn Marshall in the first place?" Grissom grumbled slightly irritated that this was just coming to light now. This time around Doc filled them in.

"She wasn't yet positively identified. There was no one on scene to do the id. Mrs. Marshall has been out of town doing an art show tour for the last few months. There were pictures in the house of our decedent and some of the photos had Amlyn's name handwritten on the back. We were in the process of getting a positive on that."

"I have another excellent question, where the hell is Amlyn Marshall?" Catherine asked.

"As of right this moment Amlyn Marshall is missing," Brass announced from the doorway of the small waiting room.

"I also have some other news," he added, moving further into the room so he stood at the head of the U-shaped grouping of chairs.

"About Amlyn Marshall or the DB?" Grissom asked. Brass shifted a little, to turn to the left to look the other man directly in the eye.

"Neither. I found out why we couldn't reach Nick's parents."

_To Be Continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

Author: Signs Of Sun

Series Title: Touched By Gravity

Genres: General/Angst (Series)

Characters: Nick and Sara. Whole team although light on Greg.

Spoilers: None for future episodes, but a few references to past seasons.

**Notes: **

**My sincerest apologies on the delay in posting this. A while back I had a bit of an accident. Let's just say that if I had to provide a doctor's note I could easily produce one stating why I couldn't use the computer. Then following recovery from that I moved so the computer was packed away for a while. When I finally unearthed it I had a problem with first my phone line then when the voice part of the line was fixed I had a problem with my DSL and it wasn't working. Then LOL!when everything on my end was finally in working order and I went to post the chapter kept erroring out every time I tried to post it for the last couple days. I tell ya if it's not one thing it's the other. Sorry about that. I should be settled in now though. Once again my apologies. Perhaps the following part of this note will make up for it a little.**

So I have pretty much wrapped up writing the remaining chapters of _Touched By Gravity_. No fear a ways to go yet! Plenty of chapters still to be posted. But in terms of actual writing I'm just about done with everything but small additions, edits, and polishing. But I'm _considering _beginning to develop a second story. A Nick and Grissom fic. Not slash though. It's an adventure story incorporating psychological suspense amongst other wonderful things. If this is something you guys would be interesting in reading let me know and I'll start working on it.

Summary: Nicks investigation of a case is abruptly interrupted. It may take a little teamwork to solve the case with him out of the picture. Or is he really? Just might he still be able to provide an essential connection to the truth?

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

_Touched By Gravity VII_

Sara squatted down and began scooping up the last of the papers from the hospital room floor. Some of the pages had captured her attention longer than others. Nick had made bold markings in black pen next to some of the details. Possibly things he had intended to dig further into or things that had stood out to him, or even that he had deciphered some pattern amongst the highlighted items that she could not see quite yet. Despite all the procedures to be adhered to every CSI inevitably added a trace of their own individual style to the method. Nick, amongst other things, storyboarded things. Where Grissom took one miniature element and built on it outward, Nick saw the story, the bigger picture, and weeded out the key scenes or elements inward to the essential elements. Nick didn't see things in black and white. Instead could visualize the whole color photograph and break it down into the individual hues. Sara smiled as the realization hit her. After all the years she finally saw with greater acuity why Nick and Warrick understood one another so well. Their styles were more similar. Sara's tended to parallel Grissom's inside outward fashion more closely. Catherine ran the middle ground. But Nick and Warrick saw the spectrum first, studying for the primary colors as they went deeper.

The last paper finally back inside the folder she stood up and flipped through it, ensuring that everything was right side up and in order. When she came to the page that seemed to haunt her she stopped. The pale pink stain awakened a less scientific side of her. A part of her for some nonsensical reason clung to the sensation of being mentally intertwined with Nick.

Shaking away the warm grasp of the thoughts Sara closed the folder finally. She belonged in a colder more methodical place like the lab, solving the case that had delivered her friend where he was now, hanging in the balance.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"I have another excellent question, where the hell is Amlyn Marshall?" Catherine asked.

"As of right this moment Amlyn Marshall is missing," Brass announced from the doorway of the small waiting room.

"I also have some other news," he added, moving further into the room so he stood at the head of the U-shaped grouping of chairs.

"About Amlyn Marshall or the DB?" Grissom asked. Brass shifted a little, to turn to the left to look the other man directly in the eye.

"Neither. I found out why we couldn't reach Nick's parents."

Warrick pushed his resistant body up straighter in the chair. Brass had his full attention now.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his tone forcefully hard with dislike for Brass' ominous way of announcing this development. Warrick had met both Stokes' the preceding May when they had flown out during Nick's kidnapping. He had instantly respected them and seen firsthand where many of the traits he admired in Nick had come from. Warrick hated to think of what Nick would go through if something happened to them.

"We've been trying repeatedly to get a hold of Nick's parents at home all night. But all we ever got was their voicemail. Once their offices were opened I tried Judge Stokes' office. I spoke with his administrative assistant."

"So you didn't actually speak to Judge Stokes then?" Warrick inquired. There was a layer of disappointment inside the inflection.

"No. Judge Stokes and Mrs. Stokes were traveling in South America. I wasn't informed of what country. They were representing an organization they helped develop. There was an earthquake yesterday. It took out phone lines and power in a large area surrounding where they were staying. The Stokes' were able to relay a message through emergency personnel to their offices saying they are okay, but stuck where they are for the time being."

"So they don't know about Nick?" Catherine faintly jumped in with.

"No."

"Maybe it's better that way," Grissom offered.

"It's their son Gil."

"I know that Catherine. I'm not disagreeing with you. Think about it. Would you want to be trapped somewhere and find out Lindsey had been injured and not be able to go to her?"

"Of course not."

"Well, there you go," Grissom replied with a firm look.

"So I guess that means for the moment we're all Nick's got," Catherine announced to the entire group.

"Looks that way, doesn't it?" Brass sighed out. A heavy breathless silence gripped the entire room for the span of several seconds. Suddenly the weight of Nick's situation sunk in deeper, cutting into each of their hearts and minds. If there were decisions to made, life and death decisions even, Nick's parents would not be present to make them. There were other relatives to still be contacted but in that moment Nick was partly in their hands. And somehow they would have to do right by him this time around.

Grissom's voice snapped the thread that seemed to be straggling each of them silently, individually. His own mind compensating by changing the subject of thought.

"Brass what's the update on Amlyn Marshall?"

"A BOLO has been put out on her. She was supposed to be staying with the neighbors, Terri and Daniel Sheldon and their sixteen year old daughter Marisa, but she never came home a week ago last Friday. They found a note on the dining room table when they arrived home from work that day. The letter was from Amlyn supposedly and informed them Amlyn had been in touch with her mother and was flying out to see her. This was not out of the ordinary according to the Sheldons. Mrs. Marshall would buy the plane ticket and Amlyn would fly to meet up with her at whatever art show or workshop she was at. It was that or really never see each other much. So it didn't raise any red flags for them. I checked with Mrs. Marshall and she stated that Amlyn did send her an email about coming to visit."

"Did the Sheldons recognize the handwriting on the note as Amlyn's?" Grissom inquired, eagerness in his voice. The new information appeared to have refreshed his reserves of energy significantly.

"They were fairly confident it was. They weren't sure if they still had the letter so I strongly _encouraged_ them to look for it."

"Alright, I'll take the lead on our DB and work that with Brass. Catherine, head up finding Amlyn Marshall."

"If you get Brass I get Greg at the least," Catherine insisted and stood in preparation to head out.

"Yes, you can have Greg, but we'll have to share Warrick and Sara."

"You're not very good at sharing Gil."

"So I've been told. But practice makes perfect, right?"

"I'll believe it when I see it," she replied with a knowing expression.

"So what's the plan?" Brass asked as Grissom stood too, looking as if he was preparing headed out of the room. The others listened along with Brass as Grissom rattled of the details.

"First off, we need an id on the decedent. No luck on fingerprints so let's check missing persons. Maybe someone out there is looking for her. Also we'll need to check the evidence collected as well as go back to the Marshall house for additional evidence that may identify our DB. DNA, personal items, phone records. Anything that tells us who she is. And then we figure out why she was killed her."

"Nick already requested the phone records. So that's one step forward on that," Jim informed him.

"Great we'll check those out and see if there was anything else in the evidence he collected that might give us a lead. Nick knew something was up. He was getting there I think, very close to pinpointing something pivotal. He simply ran out of time."

Grissom stopped speaking when his attention was drawn towards the doorway and the woman that had appeared there. The others turned their focus to her just as she introduced herself.

"Hi everybody. I'm Barbara, one of the O.R. nurses. I just came out to touch base with you. Things are proceeding well. Mr. Stokes is certainly holding his own and there haven't been any complications."

"How much longer?" Warrick immediately jumped in asking.

"We're about three quarters of the way there. Once the procedure is complete he'll be in recovery for a bit then moved back to the neuro ICU."

"That's good that your three quarters there and there's no complications yet?"

"Yes. Things are going as planned and we're optimistic."

"You'll keep us updated?"

"Absolutely. Mr. Stokes seems to have quite a cheering section."

"Yeah we're definitely loud, opinionated, and travel in a pack," Catherine reacted with.

"I'm sure Mr. Stokes feels the support."

"We hope so," Grissom responded gently. The statement seemed to come more out of wishfulness than confidence. The tone was one that was almost odd coming from him, but at the same time he had stated aloud the sentiment that the remainder of the group had only thought, not spoken. The only one that didn't find it unusual was the nurse who nodded her head and offered him a light smile before heading back to the operating room and Nick.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The sun baked Tahoe had been sitting in the parking lot outside of the Las Vegas Crime Lab's garage for hours. When Brass had driven Sara out to the Marshall house she had driven Nick's SUV back to the lab, having picked up the spare copy of the keys on the way out to the scene. The sun had reached a higher perch in the sky and had won out over any shade the early morning had gifted the city with. Sara fished her sunglasses out of her purse and slipped them on. Her ultimate destination was her own car to drive back to the hospital, but the Tahoe held an irresistible curiosity in her thoughts so she had diverted from her original course out the front of the building through the garage, picking upthe copy of the SUV's key along the way.

She unlocked the driver's side door and was immediately assaulted by the sun's thorough work of practically boiling the air inside the Tahoe. After she recovered for the breath stealing blast she climbed inside, leaving the door open to vent the interior some. She glanced around the front portion of the vehicle, checking between, underneath, and in front of both seats. She even looked in the glove compartment, but was empty handed in the end. It wasn't surprising though. It wasn't often the CSIs stored stuff up front. So she hopped back out, hitting the button on the door to unlock the remaining doors of the Tahoe. Sara pulled open the back door on the driver's side and leaned in. Scanning the entire back again found nothing. She blew out a breath as disappointment found its way into her heart. Trying to force away the feeling Sara slammed the door shut and moved to the back end of SUV and opened it up. Her gaze scanned every last inch of the vehicle and the disappointment settled further in. She turned away from the interior and leaned on the open back end of the truck.

After a long moment of thought she shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. It was the second time she had given into the absurd attachment to that dream she had had. Almost as soon as she arrived back at the lab from the hospital she had checked inside Nick's field kit for a plastic bag containing a pair of gloves stained a pale shade of pink. And now she had fallen again, searching the Tahoe Nick had been driving for those same gloves.

Sara straightened up, spun around, and roughly closed up the back end. She loathed the disappointment gnawing at her. It, in fact, had been a dream. Some little silly childish piece of her had theorized that if she found the gloves what she saw would become substantiated. When in reality it wouldn't have proved anything. And it really was silly. Catherine's words finally rang as honesty and not lack of understanding as they echoed inside her mind.

"_He's in a coma Sara. His brain is swelling. He can't even breath on his own. It kills me to say it, but he's not there. He's can't be communicating with you or whatever you think it is that happened."_

And she had been right. It was the flaw of intense emotional attachment leading her away from the right path to be following. What she had experienced was a creation of her own mind filling in the blanks and nothing more.

There was nothing of value to be gained by investing herself or her time in a dream world. She needed to follow the evidence of Nick's condition and the case he been solo on.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Brass pulled the key from the ignition and climbed out of the SUV. Most of the time he spent his days in a car and most often as the passenger so he had jumped up at the chance to drive the truck. Grissom, although a bit rejuvenated by the developments in their case, was still operating on less than enough sleep and offered the keys to Jim with the plan of resting his eyes for a few moments on the way out to the crime scene. And rest his eyes he had the entire way until Brass turned off the pavement into the dirt driveway which caused a big dip in the road under the SUV. Gil's eyes had popped open with the sudden bounce the drop caused..

Jim waited at the front of the truck while Grissom collected a few items from the back end. After a moment he arrived at the front again with a field kit, a flashlight, and a camera in hand.

"Didn't Nick already do most of that already? I know he at least did the photos," Brass inquired and started to walk towards the front steps of the Marshall house. He'd only gone a few feet when he sensed that Gil wasn't tailing him.

"Gil?" he asked, stopping and turning around in search of the other man.

"The camera isn't for that scene," Grissom replied and headed off towards the side of the house.

"Uh okay," Brass commented, mostly to himself since the CSI had already disappeared around the corner of the house. But where Gil Grissom traveled others followed so the detective set out after him. Grissom was the first to speak once they met back up towards the back of the house. The CSI had stopped and had the camera now positioned to take a picture of the exterior of a building, one smaller than the house that was set back in the yard. Once he completed the task at hand he glanced over at Jim off to his left.

"Camera's for this scene," he commented and started off again across the lawn towards the building. Brass trailed him, his pace slightly slower than his companion's. The discovery of their destination struck Brass somehow with the rising of a lump in his throat. They were headed for the scene of Nick's fall. On the job Brass saw scenes so much worse all the time, but this was hard for some reason. Not just because he knew the victim either. There was a sharp difference between hearing about something and seeing it for yourself.

Jim supposed that it was easier to have hope when you don't see it for yourself. You can buffer things you don't witness a bit with the possibility that it's not as bad as what others told you or with the excuse that you don't have all the details.

But at the same time Brass was drawn in the same way Grissom was to go inside that building. There was little chance they would have come and gone from the place without being pulled to go to that scene. Maybe somewhere deep inside it would connect them to Nick and what he was going through or maybe even the slightest of possibilities of renewed hope if it wasn't as bad as they imagined it to be.

Brass grabbed onto that last thought and picked up his pace in the wake of Gil Grissom's footsteps before him.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Hey!" Sara said gently as she entered the small private waiting room. It now only held a sole occupant, Warrick. Sara offered him a friendly light smile. It was just a cover though, an excuse to study him for a fraction of a second longer. _Weather-beaten_. The description instantly popped into Sara's mind.

"Hey Sara," he responded. His tone was a mixture of warmth and will. Sara could sense he was glad to see her, anybody probably, so he wouldn't be alone with his thoughts anymore. But at the same time it was obvious that his will was all that was holding him up both mentally and physically.

"Rough day huh?"

"Is it day? I think I've lost track," he replied.

"It's day," Sara assured him since the little waiting room had no windows to the outdoors. The lone window adjacent to the doorway looked out into the hallway which lead into the surgical wing of the hospital.

"Whatcha have there?"

"Marshall case. Any news on Nick?"

"Still in surgery. One of the nurses came out and told us that it's going well, there haven't been any complications. They're about three quarters of the way through the procedure. Nicky's holdin' his own."

"Never doubted it for a second."

"Right there with ya."

"Grissom take off?"

"You know Grissom. When there's cases to be solved…well…there's cases to be solved and time doesn't stop for us to be anything but scientists."

"Where did everyone else disappear to?"

"Oh that's right you missed the updates?"

"Oh really? Anything interesting?"

"Well, first there's Nick's parents. Brass found out that Judge Stokes and Mrs. Stokes were traveling in South America. There was an earthquake that knocked out phone lines, power actually in the whole region. They're okay, but stuck there for now. They relayed a message through rescue workers to their offices that they were okay."

"Well, that's good news. They know?"

"No. They don't know about Nick. So you been back at the lab?"

"Yeah. I wanted to check on a few things. I made a copy of the Amlyn Marshall case file too. Left a copy for Grissom."

"Yeah about that. That was the other development. The Amlyn Marshall case isn't really the Amlyn Marshall case."

"Whoa whoa! You've totally lost me."

"The DB in the Marshall house was not Amlyn. Fingerprints didn't match. And the mother showed up to id Amlyn and said it wasn't her daughter."

"So the fingerprints didn't match Amlyn's, was a match found?"

"Nope. Grissom is working on that. Catherine is heading up finding Amlyn. A BOLO has been put out. Cath is having Greg check the missing persons databases. Grissom went with Brass back out to the crime scene and to talk with the neighbors where Amlyn was staying before she disappeared."

"I was in that house. There were photos of the decedent all over the place. At least on the surface I didn't see a photo of another female teenager. Do we have a photo of Amlyn Marshall?"

"Brass does. He gave Catherine all that information. Have you gone through the file yet?"

"A little. You might say I got interrupted before I got too deep."

"Want some help?" Warrick offered in a tired whisper.

"Sure. They say two heads are better than one, right?"

"Well, this head is seriously sleep deprived. I can chip in at least half of one though."

"I'll take it," Sara replied. There was a beat of silence while she opened the file on the coffee table in front of them. She took a handful of the papers in the folder and turned to Warrick.

"A half a brain's worth," she stated with a grin and held out the stack to him. He took it and shifted on the couch so he could place the stack next to him.

"You know what?" Sara commented.

"What's that?"

"In Nick's notes he made marks next to some of the lines. There was something…something about photos of another teenaged girl."

"For real?"

"Warrick I think Nick was piecing something together just before his accident. I've started going over everything and he clearly knew something was off."

"Actually you're right, he did. David was here with Doc and said that Nick had come by before heading out to the Marshall house. He wanted to push to have a rush on having prints lifted from the DB to verify the id. David said he got the impression that Nick wouldn't have been surprised if they didn't match."

"I wonder what exactly tipped him off?" Sara responded and flipped open the file folder. She could sense Warrick beside her turn his attention to his own stack. As a comfortable quiet settled into the room Sara focused intensely on reading Nick's notes, searching to follow the path Nick had traveled along to suspect the young woman at the bottom of those stairs wasn't Amlyn. From the first set of notes she went over the list for Nick's initial pass through the house that detailed items he had logged.

The image of Nick crouched under a desk in the Marshall house flashed back to Sara's mind. In her dream he had ducked under the desk to grab a piece of crumbled up paper in floor in the corner of the room. After retrieving it he had stood up and unfolded it. Suddenly the vivid image of Nick's expression when he had studied the paper that seemed to contain, at the least, a color photo

_There was a flash of something, something hopeful, in his eyes as he delicately unfolded and examined it._

"_Well isn't that interesting. She…" he stated, but Sara never heard the rest because the sensation of a hand of her shoulder, shaking her, stole her away from his voice._

Sara sifted through her half of the folder, but the evidence list was not there.

"Do you have the evidence list?" she asked Warrick.

"Yeah. Right here," he responded and handed it over. Silently Sara visually skimmed down over the items.

"What are you looking for?"

"Got it!' Sara responded not a beat of dead air later.

"Enlighten me please," Warrick threw back slight frustrated. Sara handed the page back to him and indicated with her fingertips the item near the end of the list. While Warrick read it Sara turned back to her stack of papers and searched through to find Nick's note on the evidence list. As she read them she gave Warrick the highlights.

"Nick found something with a photograph on it. A photograph that had the decedent and another female teenager in it. The caption identified the girl on the left as Amlyn Marshall, but the girl on the left was not the decedent. The girl standing beside her was."

"So Amlyn and the vic knew each other."

"I suppose that if she knew Amlyn that helps explain the vic being found in the Marshall house. What I don't get is why nobody noticed Amlyn was missing?"

"Brass stated that while Amlyn's parents were out of town she was staying at the neighbors. Apparently that wasn't uncommon since just about every time her mother was out of town at an art show or workshop that was where she stayed. The neighbors she was staying with found a note from her about week ago saying that she was flying out to meet up with her mother. That was routine as well I guess."

"I wonder what the source of the photograph was. Was it a newspaper clipping or personal photo or what?" Sara pondered as she started rapidly digging through the remaining contents of both her and Warrick's piles of papers.

"It should be there. Nick should have noted it when he logged it."

"Right. But it's not."

"Look again I'm sure he would have noted it."

"Warrick, there's missing pages here. Some of these pages don't seem to have continuations on the next page."

"We'll have to get the photo out of evidence then," Warrick commented studying the evidence list he still held in his hand. Sara didn't reply so he glanced over to find her dialing her call.

"Hey Jim. It's Sara. I've got something you might want to check out," she said into the phone a few seconds later. Warrick placed the page in his hand back into the collection on the table in front of him and sluggishly stood up. He needed to stretch and maybe wander for a bit. Now that Sara was there in the waiting room in case anyone came with word on Nick he could step out of the room for a few precise but brief moments. He peered out the window of the waiting room down along the hallway. Remembering that just around the corner at the end of the corridor there was a soda machine he was suddenly acutely aware how thirsty he was. Looking back over his shoulder at the seat he just departed his exhaustion argued that perhaps a nap would be even better, but he fought off the idea. This was the first real chance he'd had to leave that cramped room in hours and if he was smart he'd take advantage of it.

"Sara, I'll be back in a few. Just going for a walk around." To this Sara nodded her head as she listened to him and Brass on the other end of her phone at the same time. At a pace something akin to a crawl Warrick trudged his weary body down the hallway, around the corner, and planted himself in front of the Pepsi machine that looked better than any Pepsi machine he'd ever seen. Only seconds later he had two sodas in hand. His own he gulped half of down with scarcely a breath. The other he would hang on to and offer to Sara. He appreciated her company. The span of time spent alone had been harder than he had anticipated or cared to let on about. Physically the walk was healing and mentally Sara's presence was almost mentally relaxing.

Finishing off his drink he tossed away the can in the trash and glanced at his watch.

"You're kidding me?" he whispered to himself. More time had passed than he thought. Had he fallen asleep in that chair? The question instantly departed his mind when he realized what it meant. When the O.R. nurse had come out while the others were still in the waiting room she had stated that Nick's surgery was three quarters the way through. If that was the case they should have finished up a long time ago. Yet no one had come to let them know.

Spotting the surgical wing's nurses station down the hallway he made his way there and with some difficulty gained the attention of one of its attendants.

"Can I help you? We spoke earlier I think. Mr. Brown, right?"

"Yeah. I was wondering if there was any update on Nick Stokes?"

"I'm sorry I haven't heard anything new but let me check for you," the gray haired nurse offered. She instantly was on the phone, in search of a status on the patient. Her end of the conversation was mostly filled with "okay" and "I will" so Warrick couldn't gather much verbally, but he did note the slightest of changes in her expression about hallway through. By the time she hung up Warrick was on guard just a little.

"So?" he asked, anxiousness undisguised.

"Mr. Stokes' procedure is taking a little longer than anticipated."

"Is there some sort of problem? A complication?"

"Someone from the O.R. is coming out to speak with you."

"So there is something then?"

"That's all they told me. I'm sure they are just coming out to check in, give you a routine progress report."

"A progress report? He's been in there way longer than he was supposed to be. If everything was going fine wouldn't they be done by now!" Warrick snapped out.

"I'm sorry Mr. Brown. I wish I had more information. I'm sure they will answer any questions you might have."

"They damn well better!" Warrick commented, storming off down the hallway in the direction of the waiting room. By the time he entered through the doorway back to the waiting area his heart was slamming against the interior of his chest. He wished it was only his anger at them not keeping Nick's friends updated that coursed through his veins, but he knew it wasn't.

Fear, fear for Nick's life, poured to every inch of his body and pounded agonizingly deep in his chest. His heart crumbled with the realization that Nicky was very likely falling to even a deeper darker place and there wouldn't be anything he could do to stop it.

_To Be Continued…_


End file.
